


He Moved Like a Mortal and Loved Like a God

by nietzscheantrout



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Blood, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Death, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is in Prison, M/M, Murder, OH GOD OH FUCK, Occasional fluff, Someone Help Will Graham, Wedding, Will Graham Gets Married, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26695960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nietzscheantrout/pseuds/nietzscheantrout
Summary: Hannibal had spent the last year and a half in prison after surrendering himself to the FBI. One day, Alana decided that she didn't have enough leverage. Thankfully, Will Graham was getting married and she was about to let Lecter know.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Molly Graham/Freddie Lounds, Molly Graham/Will Graham, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 135
Kudos: 272





	1. Dementia

Alana made her way towards Hannibal’s cell, walking in through one door, and out another. Her mind was at peace at once. Margot and the kid were at home, Jack had come into his own leading the BSU, and even Will was recovering. Nothing could match her excitement when Molly invited her out for a drink or two, discussing the banalities of family life and staying at home, only to be shown a ring on her finger. Alana felt her heart soar into the stratosphere and beyond. There is nothing she wanted more than to let go, to put the past behind them, to completely forget that Lecter ever existed and return to some sense of normality.    
  
Today, she was beaming with excitement for the upcoming event. She had gotten her hair permanently straightened the day before, and was happily strutting in the heels she intended to wear down a bit before putting them on on the big day. Bloom entered the room with a smile on her face, truly prepared to face whatever Lecter was about to draw her into. Hannibal immediately noticed a difference in her presence. Her posture had shifted, and she was visibly taller via the heels. An interesting shift in power dynamics.    
  
Hannibal, on the other hand, couldn’t say that he had quite moved on. Days passed like weeks in solitude. He would sometimes sit upright on the bed, imagining Will sitting across from him and weaving an intricate metaphor about the morality of killing. Anyone with a pair of eyes willing to inspect Lecter’s sketches could tell that not only were they filled with yearning, but with intense sadness. Will’s features were no longer as sharp or defined, and Lecter cursed himself for allowing his face to become faded in his memory. Some nights, he would lay in bed and pray that something out there would permanently etch Will’s expression into his brain, so he would never have to hate himself for forgetting again. Lecter inspected his latest drawing, Will in the Uffizi gallery. The exact position of his eyes was now a little off, and the curve of his lip wasn’t quite authentic. Hannibal felt more like an underpaid sketch artist than a lover drawing a portrait. At least one thing remained in his memory: the exact shape of the broad scar across Will’s stomach. He would never allow himself to forget that.   
  
“Dr. Bloom, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Hannibal stepped towards the screen, having abandoned the drawings strewn across the table. He took note of her rosy cheeks and the soft smile on her face. She was clearly plotting something. Alana decided to play the waiting game, giving Lecter nothing but an unsatisfying silence to play with.   
  


“You look well. Is there a special occasion coming up? Our anniversary, perhaps?” He taunted, now closer to the screen than he had been in a while. This wordplay was often the only outside interaction he would get besides being brought food. It was minimal, but Hannibal had no choice but to make the most of it, unsure when he’d see another human being again. Besides, it was always entertaining to watch Dr. Bloom weasel her way out in an attempt to gain authority.   
  
“Not quite,” Alana retorted, excited to watch the fish latch on to the bait. Her eyes were now full of delight, not the gentle kind, but a lot more sinister.    
  
“Will is getting married next week.” She didn’t take her time to announce this, unabashedly leaning in closer to make a mental note of Lecter’s expression at that moment.    
  
Hannibal’s stomach didn’t even have time to sink, his body went numb altogether. The man’s eyes glazed over and his previously confident disposition was replaced with that of a submissive nobody, shoulders curving inwards involuntarily. He fought to keep up his appearance and not allow Alana to get into his head, after all, she could be lying, but that was just wishful thinking. Hannibal knew she wasn’t.    
  
He had gotten too comfortable with Will’s unpredictable whims of passion. The man was full of hatred and rejection but never failed in his tenderness. He remembered the way Will looked at him in Europe, with apprehension and care. The way their hands brushed over each others in passing. He was gentle. As if Hannibal was made of glass. The irony was only slightly amusing at this moment before Lecter’s emotions took over and he got seated on his bed. The words “I forgive you” echoed in his head, and Hannibal realized that it’s his turn to provide forgiveness. Yet again.   
  
Lecter wasn’t ready to speak up, but he knew that with every passing second of silence, Alana grew stronger. “I wish him well,” he managed to eke out, clearing his throat and trying to compose his thoughts. In a short burst of clarity, he could suddenly see Will sit beside him. He was dressed as he had been in the Uffizi gallery, corners of his lips upturned as he stared at Hannibal in infatuation. “I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. I wonder ed if our stars were the same.” Will said the dreaded line. Hannibal, like never before, was suddenly aware of the lack of stars above his head, and the possibility of never seeing them again. The possibility of never seeing Will again.   
  
He could only hope that in one way or another, the air in his cell was the air that once coursed through Will’s lungs as he sat behind bars. It was the only thing Hannibal had left to believe in. They no longer saw the same stars, had the same freedom, or the same feelings for each other, evidently.   
  
“I will be sure to pass on your regards,” Alana lied through her teeth, knowing she has no interest in reintroducing Hannibal into Will’s life. She reveled in watching Lecter physically shrink to how she often felt when in his presence, only wondering for a second whether that’s sadistic or justified. He was a cannibal, after all, what wasn’t justified? She silenced her hesitation.   
  
Her heels clicked threateningly as she stepped towards the screen and bit back a full-on evil villain grin. “Don’t fret so much. I’m sure he’ll visit you. Perhaps Wally will ask his dad for a trip to the zoo,” the words left her mouth like bullets. One after the other, with absolutely no filter. Alana wondered what Margot would think of her right now if she heard what she was saying. She’d probably be proud. Alana always envied Margot in the fact that her tormentor was gone, while Bloom was stuck spending her weeks with the very man who took so much from her. Margot always told her to enjoy finally being able to exert power over him, and this was the first time Alana allowed herself to.    
  
“I expected you to gloat and stride with this newfound power, Dr. Bloom. What I didn’t expect is for you to be so vindictive,” he sighed for a moment, composing himself, and then stood up again. In this process, not only had Will achieved his Becoming, but Alana had grown into something of its own. She was filled with poison, knowing that each and every once of her words would sink a dagger deeper into Hannibal’s back. Lecter was comforted by the fact that she evidently felt guilty for her actions.    
  
“I wish to write a letter to Will Graham. To send my congratulations, of course. Would that be at all possible?” He tried to look convincing, but for the first time in forever, he looked truly weak. The wrinkles on his face which were once seen as likable and charming showed his age, and his hair hung over his face unattractively. This wasn’t him asking for a favor, this was a plea.    
  
She hesitantly obliged, feeling guilt seep into her chest momentarily. Alana wouldn’t admit she felt bad, but something about the atmosphere in the room was letting her know that Hannibal wouldn’t be the same after this day. All thanks to her.   
  
Bloom remembered discussing dementia with some of her colleagues, weighing the importance of keeping patients updated on their lives. It was agreed almost unanimously that there was no need to force people to relive their old trauma. Many people made the mistake of letting their mentally deteriorating family members know that their loved ones had passed away, day after day after day. And each day, the pain these people experienced was extremely real and gut-wrenching, all for what? They weren’t going to resume their normal lives upon hearing this information. All this did was ensure their fleeting moments of consciousness were plagued by grief and regret.   
  
She wondered whether she should have shown Lecter the same courtesy. Allowed him to live in his bubble where Will was looking at Orion every night, or cooking elaborate meals, or passingly mentioning Achilles and Patroclus in conversation with others. Let him pretend that Will was suffering, that while Alana watched Lecter sketch tirelessly, Will was aching to be back. What drew Alana to make the decision that ensured his suffering?   
  
Hannibal watched her leave, noticing that the aura of confidence she came in with was ever so slightly diminished. He could taste blood in his mouth, having bitten through the inside of his cheek.  _ That could’ve been Will’s blood _ , he thought to himself. And it would’ve been, had he not decided to surrender everything he had to the one person who wouldn’t come looking for him. Lecter was humored by his own weakness, pacing around the room and mentally conjuring a reason or an explanation that didn’t involve him pining over someone who didn’t care. He regretted not finishing the job. Not sawing into Will’s delicate head and being able to hold his entire mind in his hands. Not savoring each and every last bite of Graham’s convoluted personality. Not taking up the opportunity to keep a part of Will inside himself.    
  
He pulled out his pen and a piece of paper, hoping his calligraphy doesn’t fail him lest this look like a cartoonish serial killer ordeal, covered with letters cut out of a magazine and written in broken English. Hannibal began to write, expertly drawing every letter. He paused, wondering how he should sign it.   
  
_ Yours Sincerely, _ _   
_ _ Hannibal Lecter _ _   
_ _   
_ He refrained from poetic musings or convoluted allegories. After all, if Will wanted that, all he needed was a quick Google search. He had no more games to play, and nothing else to lose. What Hannibal needed to get across was himself. Abigail was gone, his career was gone, and now Will. Lecter was slowly coming to terms with the fact that there is no one left to manipulate, to coax, to blandish with faux compliments for an ulterior motive. His world was reduced to him, his cell, occasional interactions with the guards, and inklings of memories of a timid man dressed in flannel.   
  
That evening, Lecter retired to bed earlier than usual. He had no interest in absentminded chatter or subpar food. All he could do now is wait for Will’s response. And hope that the stars hear his plea.    
  
\---   
  
Wally erupted in laughter as Will haphazardly tried to shove a particularly active fish back in his icebox. It slipped in and out of his hands, writhing uncontrollably, mouth wide open. He finally calmed down and used some conviction to force it shut, sitting down on top of it and letting the boy stand beside him. “Don’t blame me! They’re very slippery,” Will tried to argue, gesturing for Wally to come closer. “Come on, bud, your mom’s probably waiting for us,” He said, picking up the cooler and smiling a little wider when Wally grabbed the handle as well, allowing him to believe they’re carrying it ‘together’.   
  
Upon arrival home, he gave Molly a kiss and sent Wally off to take a shower, sitting down in his usual reading nook in the corner. Wolf Trap hadn’t changed a bit, but he knew deep down that he was nowhere near the same. “Alana Bloom came by,” Molly started, wiping her hands on her apron and taking it off, relocating to the couch so she could sit opposite Will. “She dropped off a letter for you. From… Hannibal Lecter?” She studied the envelope closely. Molly was definitely aware of an outline of their past relationship, but never considered them to be friendly enough to be sending letters to each other. This frankly unnerved her a little.   
  
Will could sense her mind was racing, but at that point, he was too far gone to comfort her. He jumped to 5 conclusions within a minute, eyes darting to the envelope in Molly’s hands as he tried to take a guess at what could possibly be in it. He felt the rage building up in his face first, cheeks heating up and ears going red. How could the universe allow this? After all of the work he did in an attempt to forget. After all the therapy, after marriage, after his child, the news of this letter left him feeling like he was back at square one. He reached for the envelope, unconsciously snatching it out of her hands. “I think I’m going to step outside to read this if that’s okay,” he didn’t wait for a response, putting on his coat and walking away from the house as he analyzed the handwriting on the front. It was definitely Hannibal’s signature.   
  
He sighed, opening it and pulling out a single piece of paper, beginning to read.    
  
_ My Dearest, Will _ _   
_ _   
_ Will paused. He couldn’t believe those words. Will could feel the hairs on his skin begin to stand up at the thought of Lecter writing this just yesterday, for better or for worse. What in the hell was Hannibal playing at?   
  
_ Alana has so kindly shared the news of your marriage with me. Congratulations. I wish your family stability and peace. After everything, you are more than deserving of the opportunity to settle down and lead a quiet family life. Is this everything you’ve ever wanted? _ _   
_ _   
_ He hated that even via letter, Hannibal was still able to ask the questions that stung him most. Will really tried to avoid reflection prompted by Lecter’s tauntings, but to no avail. He thought about Abigail. Hannibal, Will, and Abigail could’ve been a happy family. Not in a different life or universe, but this one, and he threw it all away.   
Will visited her grave at least monthly, but he drove by more often than he’d like to admit, occasionally sitting down and telling her about his and Hannibal’s ventures in Europe, or how calm she looked in the candlelight of that cathedral, or how much he missed her. She had such a presence when she was alive, and even now. Such a gentleness about her that the world’s softest magnolias would envy. Such wonder and curiosity about the world, the morbid parts, and the picturesque ones too. Sometimes, he saw the same twinkle in Wally’s eyes, and his heart filled with an unexplainable emotion, only to seep when met with the face of a young boy with green eyes. He always wondered whether he’d love Wally like he loved Abigail. Perhaps one day he could take him fishing without thinking about her.   
  
_ I’m reminded of a man I met a few years ago. He was timid, avoidant, always smelled like cheap cologne. He was afraid of his own mind, terrified of his ability to relate to others, full of shame and repression. I personally watched him grow. From becoming a father, to losing a loved one, to learning forgiveness, and letting his natural instincts seep in.  _ _   
_ _   
_ Will’s heart raced. The phrase ‘natural instincts’ angered him with the bitter truth. He was empathetic, compassionate, caring; but he was also a monster. A monster that only a man like Hannibal had learned to love. He was yet again faced with the reminder that Molly didn’t love him per se, but rather a diluted version of him, fabricated for those with less macabre tastes. His lip trembled.  _   
_ _   
_ _ It was the first time I had ever seen him happy, and his mind and body worked as one. He moved like a mortal and loved like a God. _ _   
_ _   
_ At this point, Will had no choice but to sit down in the grass. He remembered Hannibal’s comparisons to the divine and sighed, trying to keep it together. He was going to have to explain this to Molly after all. Hannibal’s idea of ‘love’ in this sentence could easily be extended to death, to suffering, to pain. It was an act of intimacy that many would never experience the exhilaration of. An act of intimacy that Will was all too familiar with.    
  
_ He taught me that the knife carries just as much love as the hand; and that perhaps I too, am deserving of forgiveness. Sometimes envision the night sky and wonder if our stars are the same. If, in a different life, I could see him just one more time. _ _   
_ _   
_ Will took a moment to consider that. A different life where he and Hannibal could live together, and raise Abigail. He let out a shaky sigh. Will had returned to the state of no longer feeling clean or absolved of everything that had happened. He wanted, needed to see Hannibal. As an apology, as closure, as a reminder of the life he could never have.  _   
_ _   
_ _ I hope this union provides you a sense of safety that I could never dream of giving you. You promised me a reckoning, and you’ve succeeded.  _ _   
_ _   
_ The man’s eyes skimmed over the last sentence again and again. He was transported back to the cage at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. How he held onto the bars some days and wept to be let out, how Alana looked at him when she thought about what he’d done, how Hannibal said he had faith in Will… It was all too much to bear. He cursed the stars, angered that even the sky reminded him of the past. Loathed that when he took his shirt off, he was permanently branded. Owned. Sometimes, Lecter was painfully inescapable.   
  
Tears welled up in his eyes. This was not the reckoning Hannibal deserved, and not the one Will deserved either. He shoved the letter into his back pocket and wiped his face in a half-attempt at looking somewhat composed, heading back inside the house and being met with Molly, who was anxiously awaiting him on the couch. Will gave her a lighthearted smile, sitting beside her. “It’s nothing, Molls. Alana mentioned to him that we’re getting married. He just sent his version of what he considers to be ‘kind regards’,” he laughed softly. “I love you, and it’s going to be okay. I’m going to give Alana a call and we’ll resolve it all.”   
  
She nodded quietly, squeezing his hands and bringing them up to her face to litter his knuckles with kisses. The same knuckles that got to intimately know Randall Tier’s face.   
  
Wally came downstairs for dinner and Molly explained that Dad needed some time to himself, watching as Will stepped outside yet again to make the most important call he’s made in the last 2 years.   
  
“Hi, Alana? It’s Will,” he began, not even sure what he was going to say next.   
  
“Hey, Will. How’s Molly?”   
  
“Good, good, yeah. Took the kid fishing today, all that jazz. You know that’s not what I’m calling about,” his tone of voice switched. It sounded more stern.   
  
“Yeah, about that letter… I let him know about you and Molly. I’m not sure how he took it, is everything okay?” Alana’s voice grew with concern.   
  
“I have to see him, Alana. This is going to be the last time, but I have to say goodbye.” He didn’t know why he felt like he was lying. Was he subconsciously ready to admit to himself that this wasn’t going to be the last time? No.   
  
She hesitated on the other end of the phone. What had she done? After all this time trying to recover, Will was being drawn back to the same thing that almost killed him.    
  
“Please, Alana,” it’s no surprise he employed that so quickly. He learned manipulation only from the best. It scared Will how easily he was able to keep certain people wrapped around his finger, especially Alana. Easy to control someone when they constantly put you in the position of a lost little puppy.   
  
Bloom sighed quietly, knowing she wouldn’t hear the end of this if she said no. Not to mention the fact that it was Will’s wedding on Saturday. Perhaps this is exactly what he needed for closure, and then he could move on once and for all. “Okay, I’ll arrange something tomorrow. The last time, yeah?”   
  
“Yes,” Will replied a little too quickly. He wished he could do something about the butterflies in his stomach. 


	2. Outpour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plagued by resurfacing feelings, Will decided to visit Hannibal and get closure once and for all. He didn't know what he expected, but it most certainly wasn't this.

_ He was standing at the altar, dressed in a well-fitted suit. Wally made his way down the rows of people, holding a box that housed two rings, keeping his eyes on it at all times to ensure he didn't drop it. Will took his time to inspect the rows, and it felt like the whole world had come to see him be wed. Price and Zeller were there, Crawford was in the front row, Alana and Margot smiled peacefully. He turned to the side to check in on his maid of honor, and his heart dropped when he locked eyes with Abigail. She was dressed in a violet dress, and a beautiful scarf adorned her neck. Will reached for her, chest about to burst, but something else grabbed his attention. She dissipated almost momentarily. As if she wasn't even a figment of his imagination, but a pile of dust that had conveniently scattered itself into the shape of Abigail. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ The processional music played. He mentally prepared himself, waiting to see Molly in all her beauty. The door cracked open, and the whole room turned to see _ _   
_ _   
_ _ The Stag. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ It walked slowly down the aisle, threateningly pointing its antlers in the direction of the guests, who all began to scatter left and right as the room erupted in whispers. Will stood still, outstretching a hand towards it and commanding it to stop, watching The Stag relax, if only for a moment. It let out a pained yell and followed Will’s orders, laying down right in front of him.  _ _   
_ _   
_ _ The room and everyone within it disappeared. He was left in the woods, with the stag. “If I saw you every day, Will, I would remember this time.” Will thought about the time he chose Hannibal. The time when he openly admitted to Jack he still thought about running away. It stung him deeper than the first time he’d heard it, and continued to hurt with a sharp ache in his chest. He heard familiar footsteps behind him but wouldn’t dare to turn around, holding onto the stag for stability. The figure behind him didn’t hesitate before grabbing both of his shoulders and moving closer. “Just what are you afraid of, Will?” _ _   
_   
Will woke up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily and attempting to focus on the ceiling for a chance at grounding himself. He couldn’t believe it was happening again. Graham turned to see that Molly wasn’t in bed any longer, just like she had done when he was still having nightmares, early into their relationship. It’s not that she didn’t care, but after an instance of Will grabbing her in his sleep, she figured the couch was for the best.    
  
He sighed, pulling off the now wet and tacky shirt and discarding it, focusing on removing the bedsheets. Will heard a faint rustling downstairs, abandoning the laundry momentarily to step towards the staircase. Molly was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea, evidently waiting for Will to come down. Putting on a fresh shirt, he made his way downstairs and greeted Molly. He checked the clock. 4 AM.    
  
“Will, we need to talk,” the dreaded words lingered in the air as if Will was refusing to accept them, or even absorb them.   
  
“Hannibal is nothing to be afraid of,” he cursed himself for starting with that. The middle of the night was truly not the best time for his decision-making abilities. He started pacing before he could stop himself, pouring a glass of water and downing it in one.   
  
“That’s not what I was going to say. Alana called again and mentioned that it might be cathartic for you two to see each other one last time,” she stood up, placing a warm hand on Will’s shoulder. Grounding him. “Listen, I know you had a lot of shit come up in your past, I’m not about to ask you to give me a detailed outline of your trauma. But what exactly happened between you and this guy?” Her eyes wandered, noticing how hard it was to catch Will’s gaze. He was unable to look at her when she was like this; so concerned, so caring. Will felt exposed.   
  
“We knew each other quite well,” He clenched his teeth, taking another sip of water lest he let it slip that they shared a lot more than mutual knowledge of each other. They had a child, a passion, a future. He sighed quietly. “You would’ve heard me mention. We worked together on cases for the FBI, and he was my therapist. It’s everything you’ve heard already, Molls,” he wrapped his arms around her, looking her in the eye. “I just need closure, or he’ll never leave us alone. We have a lot ahead of us, hun, I just need to see this through and settle it once and for all.” At that point, he wasn’t sure what was the truth and what wasn’t. At least not consciously, the way his heart ached told him otherwise.    
  
Molly nodded softly, leaning into his neck. “I love the way you smell,” she murmured, trying to disappear in the comfort of his arms, and possibly distract herself from this fucked-up situation. All he could think about was the cologne she selected that Lecter would certainly disapprove of. It was musky, deep, smelled a bit like a cross between a lumberjack and a drunk sailor. It was deliciously awful.   
  
“Come on, let’s head to bed,” Will said. “I’ll change the bedsheets, alright? Come upstairs in a moment.” He made his way to their bedroom and quickly stripped the remains of the bedding off, crawling under the covers and beckoning for Molly to join him. She couldn’t help but smile, sliding into bed beside him, trying to study his face. “Can I ask you a question? Last one, I promise.”   
  
Will felt annoyance build up in his throat, trying to wave it off. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he sat up, trying to figure her out.   
  
“What was in that letter? One moment you’re smiling, the next you need a moment, and now you’ve had your first nightmare in months. Is everything alright?”   
  
He tried to formulate an answer, playing with the sheets absentmindedly. “He’s lonely,” Will began, being very careful with his choice of words. “He doesn’t have anyone left. It’s pathetic, really,” he added hastily, wondering what Hannibal would say if he could hear the words coming out of Will’s mouth. Why did he even care?   
  
She listened with understanding, trying to formulate a coherent response. She never quite grasped the extent to which Will was able to grasp the feelings of others. It was absolutely mesmerizing and she admired him for it. “Your empathy never fails to amaze me,” Molly smiled, lovingly running her fingers through his hair. There was a lot more she wanted to ask, but she felt like 4 AM Will wasn't the man she needed answers from. “Get to sleep, then. You have a serial killer to entertain tomorrow,” she joked.   
  
\---   
  
The next morning, they said their goodbyes. Wally was off to school and Molly got ready for work and a day of dress fittings. And Will? Will was on his way to the world’s most dramatic conclusion. Or at least what he hoped was a conclusion.   
  
The outsides of the BSHCI stood in the same place they had been all those years ago, ominous but not threatening. Will stepped out of the car promptly, prepared to meet Alana, and be bombarded with questions of all sorts. He still cared deeply for her, but with Margot’s presence, she’d grown to be quite unbearable at times. Bossy, brash, full of anger. Will didn’t know if he disliked her or just what she stood for. Perhaps he indirectly blamed her for Hannibal’s suffering, or for his own.   
  
“Will!” she smiled, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he approached the doors of the building, stepping inside and breathing in the familiar scent of something between mold and a pathetic attempt at sanitization. He greeted her as well, smiling back. Will couldn’t exactly blame her for changing, Hannibal had changed all of them irrevocably. Whether that was for better or for worse remained an open ended question to him.   
  
They made their way through the familiar halls of the building, engaging in lighthearted small talk, most likely as a way to avoid discussing what actually mattered. She shared details of Ezra’s home life, discussing childhood developmental stages that Will recalled reading about when preparing for Margot’s child. The irony of Alana being with Hannibal, and Will being with Margot, and now Alana being with Margot and Will being… he stopped himself before he dubbed himself as “with Hannibal”. There was a comfort in admitting their companionship, but a comfort that Will feared he would grow to love too quickly.    
  
Finally at the destination, Will’s mouth got drier by the minute. Alana whispered a last-minute encouraging pep talk, reminding Will of Lecter’s past offenses and behaviors. It fell on deaf ears.   
  
Hannibal’s day began just like any other. There was no one in his vicinity to wish a good morning to, and no one was particularly concerned with how he’d slept the night before. He stretched his arms out, allowing his worn joints to crackle like a glowstick. Days spent indoors were really beginning to wear him down, but he had something more important to focus on today.   
  
He couldn’t quite put his finger on the emotion that was coursing through his body at that moment. It was an all-consuming experience, soft and sacred, yet loud for those who listened. Like whispers in a crowded church, it felt like letting your feelings run wild at the foot of God’s throne. He didn’t fear law enforcement or persecution. Not even the Lord himself came between him and Will’s connection, and knowing he’s visiting would finally confirm it.   
  
  
The door creaked open, and there he was. The simplicity of it was infuriating. All it would’ve taken Will was a car trip and a few steps and there He was. In all His glory.    
  
Hannibal rose from his seat, approaching the screen almost in a hasty manner. His composure had been put on the back burner, and he moved similarly to a caged bird. Haphazardly and with desperation. Before he could even begin to take in the experience that was Will Graham, the smell hit his nose. The notes of musk and sandalwood; they were reminiscent of Will but something was not the same. He could sense that someone had meddled with him. His clothing almost seemed more atrocious than what he’d seen him in initially, though he was unsure that was possible. Lecter didn’t know he’d ever see denim, flannel, and corduroy all in one outfit, he resented every moment of it. Graham was drowning in an ill-fitting shirt, and his hair had been trimmed down to an uncomfortable middle length. Not short enough to look professional, but not long enough to look intentional.    
  
Lecter’s heart seeped with anger, preparing to launch itself at the screen and scream out. Will had retreated back into his comfortable shell of a victim. The sad, tired, pathetic man who couldn’t make eye contact or bear to hold a proper conversation. The man who he visited that one fateful morning, watching as he shoveled scrambled eggs into his unshaven gob. The stupid, endearing, faux, weak person suit that Hannibal had spent all of his time tearing down. His appearance was unbearable, but the thing that sent him over the edge was Will’s demeanor. Yet again he saw a trepid little mouse with big doe eyes and a fortress built around his heart. Where was the Will Graham he had spent so long crafting? He was a sculptor almost finished with his work being met by a marble block yet again.    
  
Will approached the screen, consciously or unconsciously avoiding eye contact. He wasn’t unaware of his actions. He knew he needed therapy, but what therapy encouraged was a return to “normality”, which he was never ever close to, to begin with. So, what Will had to make do with was the old appearance he had crafted for himself. It was easier that way. Easier on Molly, easier on Wally, easier on his students. From the second he walked in, he knew it wasn’t easier on Hannibal. He could almost play the conversation out in his head. Or at least he thought he could, up to that point.   
  
“Mr. Graham,” Hannibal began, mentally wrestling the urge to say something more intimate in favor of having the upper hand. He deserved it, even if for a passing moment. “It’s a pleasure to see you didn’t feel the need to dress up for the occasion.”   
  
Will immediately knew what he was doing. Hannibal felt thoroughly violated at this moment, and was biting back in the one way he knew how. He had thought that seeing Lecter behind bars would be an inkling of freedom, a rite of passage into his life as a married man, perhaps an opportunity to exert control. But it just served as a reminder of his own mortality. A feature-length film about the horrors of humanity and vulnerability in the shape of a man with high cheekbones and a defined jaw. Hannibal looked worn. He had the face of someone who had endured multiple wars, but Will knew that in many ways, war would be easier on Hannibal than this.    
“Mr. Graham? Do I no longer have the honor to address you on the first-name basis?” Will scoffed at Hannibal’s attempt to distance himself. He sounded infantile, like a bossy child demanding respect. Will wouldn’t have admitted this to himself at the time, but part of him expected Hannibal to beg. What’s worse is that part of him ached for it. For Hannibal to get on his knees and plead, and weep about his solitude, and build palaces with his words just for the two of them, and most of all, to give Will a reason. A justification for feeling this way. But things were never that easy with Hannibal Lecter.   
  
Lecter, in fact, knew exactly what he was doing. His longing had become overwhelming but Will had made his choice. In this room, he was finally back in his element, simply playing the part of holding up a mirror to Will’s face and asking if he likes what he sees. By the grimace inching to make a home on Will’s lips, he could tell he didn’t.   
  
“Would it make you feel better about your choices if I called you Will?” Hannibal studied his expression, taking a more authoritative stance. He was dipping his toes in the water, seeing how much Will was left in this person-suit before allowing himself to take the plunge.   
  
“Why did you write to me, Hannibal? Did you want me to come in so you could break me down one more time? Is that what this is?” Will didn’t like the way his voice got louder by the moment, but he was beyond controlling his emotions. This was an outpour.   
  
“I’ve moved on. I don’t need you anymore. You have no place in my life. Is that the closure you wanted?” His voice was hoarse. Will was getting defensive before an attack was even made. Hannibal had never seen him so vocally in denial.    
  
“How long has this mantra been a part of your daily routine?” Hannibal said. This, however, was only half-tauntingly. He wanted to know if Will thought of him as often as he thought of Will.   
  
He didn’t respond, rubbing his face in an attempt to start fresh; to somehow approach the conversation in a new light. He couldn’t look into Hannibal’s eyes and admit that he repeated those words to himself every time he felt Molly’s presence in their kitchen, every time her arms snaked around his back and pulled him into her warmth, every time she kissed the hands that had dealt the wrath of God. Will couldn’t bear to say that he feared “in sickness and in health” didn’t apply to insanity. That one day he would fail to tame the beast within and Hannibal wouldn’t be there to contain it. Or at least marvel in its beauty.   
  
Hannibal watched the frustration sink Will lower into the ground, waiting to relish in his superiority, but the satisfaction never arrived. Seeing Will distraught left him to wonder what his expectations were going into this. Seeing genuine, unadulterated guilt in Will’s eyes was nowhere near what he thought it would be. The confirmation was nice, of course, but what now?    
  
Hannibal Lecter found himself stumped. Watching Will’s breaths get more labored, wanting to cradle him in his arms just for a moment. The heavens granted him the torture of watching Will’s suffering, and none of the relief of being able to comfort him.    
“I can’t do this, Hannibal. I can’t-” Will took a deep breath, self-consciously looking around. “In a different life, Hannibal. Under other constellations, in different circumstances. Maybe, somehow, we would’ve…” he trailed off, allowing himself to explore the possibility for the first time in years.   
  
“We would’ve built a life together. Perhaps admitting that was a possibility is the first step in letting it go,” Hannibal stuck with his trusty rationalizations, trying to hide the fact that his voice was wavering.    
  
Will opened his mouth to say something, but nothing at all came out. He watched as Hannibal took three calculated steps forward, placing his hand on the screen between them. Lecter ached to be able to bandage his hands one more time, or to wipe the blood off his lips. His heart went still as Will composed himself and mirrored the gesture, hand now separated from Hannibal’s by a few centimeters of the screen.    
  
“We are caged animals in our own ways, don’t you think? The difference is merely the size of our enclosure.” He spent a few seconds trying to catch Will’s gaze, finally meeting his eyes and peering into them in an attempt to gauge something, anything about his current state of mind. He softened at the sight of tears.   
  
“I am not caged,” Will whispered through clenched teeth, a single teardrop rolling down his cheek. “We talked about surviving separation. Has either of us survived, Dr. Lecter?” They stood there in silence, both knowing the answer but unable to utter it. Perhaps it was pride, or principle, or prior obligation. Neither of them was going to answer that question, so they just let it loom in the air. Will, instead, drew his focus to Lecter’s fingers. They were nowhere near as well-kept as he remembered. Though, to be frank, none of him was. Will hated that he didn’t care. That a lousy manicure or a bad haircut, or treason or arson or blasphemy or murder or betrayal could not even begin to undo his emotions. Who do you call when God is the one you’re smitten for?   
  
He let his hand slide off the screen, watching Lecter’s expression intently. He was somber but surprisingly good at hiding it. Not good enough for Will, but no one really ever was. Will planned to leave without another word, hands swatting away an onslaught of teardrops, when he heard his voice again.   
  
“Will?” he turned around momentarily. Lecter’s bottom lip twitched. “Was it good to see me?”    
  
Another question flung itself into the air and pierced Will through the stomach.   
  
He could think of a million words on this planet to describe this encounter, and “good” wasn’t on any list he conjured up. Overwhelming, sobering, biblical, shattering, profuse, immense. Not many words captured the weight that had now made a home in Will’s heart, sinking him down into the ground. “Good” had no nuance. The feeling Will experienced could occupy a space the size of a stadium, and then some. He almost scoffed at Hannibal’s poor word choice.   
  
“Good?” He met Lecter’s eyes for the last time that day, his heart set aflame. “No.”    
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> That was a quick turnaround. Thank you so much for your support on Chapter 1, I'm really glad to be working on something more long term. What do we think? <]:v)
> 
> Love you all,
> 
> \- Newt xx


	3. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting with Hannibal was unnerving to say the least and Will ached for comfort. Molly's concern grew tentatively, bubbling under the surface of every conversation. Alana questioned her own morality and Margot decided that she had found a peace that she would like to preserve.

The drive home was a nightmare. Will’s head was filled with a long, mind-numbing silence. There was not an inkling of space in his brain for overthinking or analyzing, and he was being met with the realization that this couldn’t be his last visit. Hannibal’s face while locked up, his gentle movements, his word choices… It was all proving to be too much to process at once. Lecter may not have gotten on his knees, but the yearning in his eyes was all that Will needed to see. All he needed to hear was a moment of Hannibal's voice for his feelings to be confirmed, for better or for worse. He hated himself for being so introspective, Will couldn’t just instantly shut off his brain at whim in order to enjoy time with his wife and child. Hannibal had replaced his previous mantra with a new one: ‘we are caged animals in our own ways, don’t you think?’ Quite frankly, he didn't know what to think.

He parked outside his home, hearing the dogs rally on the other side of the door as he stepped inside. Molly wasn’t going to be home for another hour, and he needed something, anything, to replace the silence in his brain. He inspected the alcohol cabinet for a brief moment, shaking his head and instead focusing his attention on something else. Will frantically grabbed his fishing supplies, letting the surrealness of what had just happened seep in. Hannibal Lecter was aching for him. And, in turn, Will felt a dull ache too. One that he wasn’t ready to name, but one he knew would be following him for a long time.

Will dashed outside in a hurry, as if physically racing against his own thoughts. Before he knew it, he was knee-deep in water, placing some bait on his hook. He swore he didn’t name it intentionally, but Hannibal’s name pounded in his head threateningly. He had no choice but to oblige, curious to see if anything would latch on and how quickly. Surely enough, minutes later the line twitched and he pulled out a large, writhing fish. It was larger than anything he'd caught in a while, and its scales glistened in the sunlight, almost poetically. Will considered the fact that he was holding its life in his hands, if only for a moment. He studied his icebox in the distance, clasping the fish. He was never one for symbolism, but this was too much. Will unhooked the poor creature, letting it disappear under the murky water. 

For a moment, he wondered what it’d be like to lie down on his back and just float away. Wade into the quiet of the stream, just like Hannibal had said. Perhaps all that he had left to do was allow nature to run its course. Clearly, despite his best attempts, he would spend the rest of his life plagued by his past and what he could have had. The water could soak through his clothing and skin, the roots could pull him into the ground, the air would let him spontaneously combust and finally grant the disappearance he deserved. He could rejoin the stars beside Orion, or become the dust someone would eventually carry into Hannibal's cell, and just settle there. Another attempt at life. An attempt that he didn't deserve to get.

Molly’s face flooded with concern as she came home to an empty house, dropping everything and immediately heading to the stream to check on Will. He was erratic, but not erratic to the point where she couldn’t make an educated guess. Sure enough, he was sitting beside his trusty cooler, head in his hands. She wasn’t new to these bouts of anxiety, but something about Will felt distinctly off. Despite his fragile state, he looked like he had more conviction. He was certainly weak, but he no longer seemed to be cowering in fear like he usually would. This was a different sort of ache, one that she'd never seen in him. Molly sat beside him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as she felt the poor man surrender into her grasp. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” She finally said, having sat for a few minutes to let Will calm down and acknowledge her presence. He considered this for a moment, looking up into her eyes. There was so much he could say, so much he wanted to omit, where was he supposed to start? 

“He’s so different to what I remembered,” the man began, sitting up slowly. “He was so worn. So broken and weak. I didn’t know what to say.” The last part was honest. Not enough words existed in the world to say everything he wanted to say, but what he actually provided was an uncomfortable silence. 

Molly nodded and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “But that’s it, right? You don’t need to see him anymore. You said your goodbyes and all.” She wanted to sound sure, but there was a pang of insecurity in her voice. It was strange seeing Will so broken up. In all their time of being together, he had never left the house with such certainty about his intentions, and come back in shambles. What exactly went on? She knew she couldn’t ask and this wasn’t the time. Perhaps Alana could provide some insight. Molly made a mental note to call her later. 

Will shifted, clearing his throat and inspecting her face. Her eyebrows were knitted in discomfort, though her eyes showed nothing but deep compassion. He took her hand and pressed a small kiss to her knuckles. “I need to finish what we started, Molly. There are still a few things we need to discuss.” 

Her heart sank. What made their reunion so unbearable that they couldn’t talk it out all at once? Molly could only imagine what they discussed, but she trusted Will. It was clearly an important part of coping with his trauma, and she wasn’t about to overstep his therapist and Alana’s suggestions to get some closure. She could only hope that he would come home and be the same man that she had fallen in love with. He was the dad that Wally deserved, and the fiance that showed her love like nobody else. 

“You’re a sweet man. I love you and I know you’re doing the right thing. It’s costing you too, I know that. I’m here, and I’ll be here whenever you come home. Whatever you need to do to repair your past, I’m with you,” his hands ran through his hair, absorbing the comfortable silence as he nodded softly, clearing his throat. “Thank you. I love you,” was all he could manage. No sentimentalities seemed fitting for what she was sacrificing for him. He couldn’t let on that in that conversation between him and Hannibal, Lecter had peered deeper into his soul than she had in their time together. Maybe that was for the best, not even Will wanted to know what he yearned for. 

They made their way back home quietly. Neither had anything fitting enough to say, and anything that did provide some depth would threaten to turn into a painfully long discussion that neither was prepared for. Instead, they regrouped in the kitchen, Molly resting against the countertop as Will scoured the fridge. “You cooking tonight?” she laughed, remembering how she’d stay in this house years ago, watching Will crack open a can of cold baked beans and eating it with a spoon. For someone so concerned with what was going on inside his head, Will seldom extended that concern for the things that went into his body.

“Yeah, it’s my specialty. Instant noodles and hard-boiled eggs,” he smiled but it stung. There was a period of time where he rarely ate at home, always seemingly at Lecter’s for dinner or passing through late-night drive-throughs after heated altercations. It wasn’t a lifestyle he missed but one that seemed so distant right now, blocked out by the homey walls of his cabin, and the smell of something almost always baking in the oven. Will was home but it felt foreign. He wasn’t deserving of all of this tenderness and affection. Not with the thoughts currently running through his head. 

Molly offered a laugh, heading into the fridge and grabbing the ingredients that she had already put away for dinner. They didn’t eat like kings but Molly liked to think that she kept the two boys in her life properly fuelled. Her lips spread into a smile at the thought of Wally. He was going to come home soon and run into Will’s arms, tell him about his day, probably nick something from the fridge. She really couldn’t ask for a better father figure. Of course, he wasn’t perfect and he had his whims but she had never seen Wally so undoubtedly happy before. Everything in her life was finally coming together. 

Surely enough, Wally arrived home from the bus stop, walking inside with a smile on his face. It was always crystal clear when he had a good day at school, the boy wore his heart on his sleeve. He leaped into Molly’s arms, giving her a tight hug, then extending the same courtesy to Will. They were a textbook happy family, sharing a laugh in the kitchen as Wally began to tell the tale of the school’s talent show. He was going through a big magic trick phase, and Molly was just grateful that Will was willing to spend hours on the couch watching Wally make objects “disappear” and accidentally fan dozens of playing cards onto the floor. “And then Ms. Anderson said I’ll be performing first! Can you believe that?” his eyes gleamed.

Will ruffled his hair, smiling softly. The hope in his eyes was something he hadn’t seen in himself in years. Seeing Wally giggle with not a care in the world, he was almost jealous, but made the conscious choice to celebrate with him instead. Sometimes Graham wished life was that easy, but then again, he was a grown man with responsibilities. And trauma. Plenty of that to go around. 

Molly instructed Wally to take a shower and set the table, smiling as the boy placed the cutlery in the correct places, carefully repositioning the glasses. Will was already sat down, clearly just waiting to chow on whatever was in front of him, and the dogs began circling the table in an attempt to beg for scraps. Will went on about the rest of his day and cracked a few jokes. They passed their plates around, fought for the last portion of mashed potato, laughed when Molly told them off for being brutish. Everything felt in order. 

\---

Lecter watched as Alana strutted into the room, amused by her confidence but simultaneously slightly anxious. A feeling he hadn’t experienced since he was a young man. He wasn’t one to relinquish control, but she determined Will’s allowances to visit. She was the one that, silly as it sounded, held his heart in his hands. Lecter couldn't quite believe his own admission of that statement. He stood up, his stance less threatening today. For once, he was compelled to be on her good side. He had a reason. Something to work towards. He wondered when the next time he’d see Will would be.

“Good morning, Hannibal,” her voice was cool and collected. She no longer felt powerless or afraid, knowing that she was prodding and Lecter’s most sensitive emotions with a spear. Bloom did feel guilty, but it was fun to watch him squirm. “I’ve come to check-in and ask how yesterday went. Will was positively shaken. What in the world did you say to him?” She took a few steps forward, inspecting Lecter’s demeanor. 

“I didn’t provoke anything. Simply held up a mirror to his face and asked if he liked what he saw,” Hannibal felt a tinge of sadness. It was clear that Will didn’t like what he saw. He was trapped in a life that wasn’t built for him, a life that was almost a copycat replacement of what Hannibal and Abigail would’ve been. An existence that revolved around being demure and being hidden. Lecter was one of the last people who knew how badly Will wanted to be seen, to be heard, to be tasted. Hannibal shuddered at the thought, refocusing on Alana, who was now watching him with a newfound curiosity.

“Will is happy without you, Hannibal. As hard as that may be to admit, you’re going to spend your life here. You’ll wake up every day and look at the same bleak ceiling, pace around this tiny room, and no one will be here to see you suffer. Whatever you’re plotting, it’s not going to work.” She sounded defensive but composed herself quickly. Something in her was burning up. Perhaps it was her fierce protection of Will, but deep down she knew that she wanted revenge. After everything that happened, after Abigail, after Beverly, after almost losing her life… This was the existence that Lecter deserved. She was sure of it.

Lecter listened to her little speech, nodding his head softly and clearing his throat. “In that case… I don’t suspect you’ll allow me to see him again?” At this moment, he was imagining himself carving Bloom into a million little pieces. See how she would feel to be broken down day after day. To have everything in her life taken away. 

Alana watched his somber expression, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ll see him. His therapist suggested this might be good in an attempt to move on. I need you to give him the closure he desires,” she couldn’t believe she was trying to compromise with a serial killer. With her former-mentor-cannibalistic-serial-killer-ex. “I need you to help him move on. For him, for his family, for his students, for his friends, for yourself.” She sighed. “You’re going to die here, Hannibal. It’s time to make amends before no one visits you at all.”

He didn’t respond, retreating to his drawing materials and sitting down at his desk. There was a half-fleshed out sketch of Will, hand pressed against the screen with a tear rolling down his cheek. His melancholy was almost overwhelming, definitely hard for Hannibal to look at. “He wouldn’t have visited me had I not written that letter. And I wouldn’t have written that letter had you not mentioned his engagement. Humor me, Dr. Bloom. What inspired you to meddle in Will Graham’s life? Professional curiosity, or perhaps, a deep desire for revenge?” He inspected the drawing closer, not even giving Dr. Bloom the luxury of eye contact. Lecter was sitting down but his authority at that moment was undoubtable. Alana very suddenly felt small. Weak. The way she felt when he was her mentor, giving her hours of work and only ever conversing on professional matters. He had a talent for making those around him feel insignificant.

“I feared what would happen if you found out some other way. At least this way it was controlled.” She told a half-truth. It was true that Bloom worried about what might happen to Will’s family irrationally, but she couldn’t stand there and say she wasn’t at least a little interested in how Lecter would react. Truth be told, Alana was curious what would happen. 

They remained in a silence that nagged at both of them before Alana spoke up again. “You’ll be seeing him next week. After the wedding.” She still couldn’t believe her own words, but relished in the look on Hannibal’s face. The twinkle in his eye was momentarily endearing before her head was flooded with all of the horrors that he managed to commit. Bloom hated that she could still see the humanity in him after everything. It was the curse of being a therapist.

She said her goodbye and politely waltzed off, pleased by the interaction yet still inquisitive about her own introspections. What were her true intentions? What did she want to happen? Is this what Will wanted at all?

Hannibal’s cell filled with a familiar quiet yet again. It wasn’t a lonely silence, but an exhausted one. He had spent his life as a devout socialite, used to filling his schedule to the brim with food preparation, work, and constant conversations. Sure, he didn’t form many attachments to those around him, but Lecter never realized how much he appreciated the company. He retreated to his sketch, tender graphite digging into Will’s palms as he traced out every line, every wrinkle, every nook and cranny. For a moment, he prayed that he was on Will’s mind. God had a funny way of doing things, but Lecter knew that in the end, he and Will were built from a collision of the same star. They were reborn atoms waiting to come together.

He thought about that for a moment. Lecter had never seriously considered the concept of soulmates, so why now? What was different about Will Graham? The man realized he couldn't even begin to answer the question he had just asked himself. He simply let his mind wander to those brief moments in the Uffizi. A moment of tranquility that God gifted them. 

The quiet of the room no longer felt as deafening as previously. Hannibal focused his attention on the sketch and sensed Will's presence in the room with him, hand on the back of his seat. Will simply watched as the older man inspected the stubble he had just drawn on the paper, erasing and re-drawing every minuscule detail. Sometimes all you need to qualm mental calamity is a pencil and a piece of paper. 

\---

Alana sat in her car for a while after that conversation. She reevaluated her choices again and again, constantly thinking about what Margot would say. She wasn’t always the best influence, but arguably the influence that Dr. Bloom needed to move on from Lecter. Turning on the radio, she drove to the Verger mansion, trying to focus on the music and not the thoughts racing through her head. Thankfully, she was met by their maid who stated that Margot was outside on the patio. Of course she was.

She tentatively walked out, lips spreading into a smile as she heard the sound of her voice reading. Margot was sat with Ezra on her lap, gently stroking his hair as she flipped through a picture book. It was clearly the third or fourth time the boy had requested for it to be read, Bloom could hear the exhaustion in her voice but she persevered, doing little voices and pointing at the intricate caricatures on each and every page. Alana wanted to photograph this moment and keep it in her heart forever, but she couldn’t bear it any longer. She approached both of them, giving Margot a soft forehead kiss and sitting beside her. “I think I can take over from here,” Bloom gave her a knowing look. Margot smiled gratefully, watching as Ezra climbed into Alana’s lap and attached himself to her neck as he frequently did. Her heart melted.

Margot leaned her head against Alana, listening along to the book. The contents were predictable but she focused on the inflection in her wife’s voice. The way she read every word as if it was the most beautiful love poem of all time. The way everything that left her mouth was deserving of a shrine to itself. At that moment, she found a quiet peace that she ached to preserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Not as much Hannigram action in this one, but I really want to flesh out all of the other relationships too. I hope you like it!
> 
> \- Newt xx


	4. Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal was in pain. His dreams had become unbearable and morbid and he needed forgiveness. Unfortunately, Will had a wedding to attend. And a new life to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I am reading all of this backwards,  
> to understand you better  
> you bite  
> I bite back  
> I want you to eat me  
> I want to stick to the back of your throat  
> because I deserve to be that knot  
> that doesn’t go away when you drink water"
> 
> — Jasmine Gibson, from “Hot-Hand Fallacy,” Don’t Let Them See Me Like This

Lecter never talked to anyone about his dreams. That, unfortunately, didn’t mean they didn’t exist.   
  
_ Hannibal was standing in his office. The dark, gloomy interior was only enhanced by the abyss outside the windows. It’s as if the room existed alone in a void, as if God had commanded “let there be light” only for him. As if the rest of the world had not been created yet.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ The sudden beep of the heart monitor startled him, and as he turned, his chest felt as if it had been ripped open. He was standing over Will, who lay limp on an operating table, chest rising and falling steadily, but something looked off. Lecter’s whole body went numb as he raced to remember his medical training, immediately checking all of his vitals. Will’s breaths were shallow and heart rate erratic. Lecter looked at him with the same fear in his eyes he had all those years ago, standing over a patient whom he knew he wouldn’t be able to save. Except for this time, he wouldn’t only lose a patient, he would lose a friend. A lover. An obsession. A religion.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Hannibal’s hands worked faster than a machine, caressing Will’s forehead, his chest, his face, trying to diagnose any issue at all. On impulse, he felt for a heartbeat again. He went cold when he realized there wasn’t one.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Dashing to the heart monitor, he grabbed the wire and followed it to his own desk, eyes darting until he saw it. At this point, Lecter was on the verge of a breakdown. Will’s heart was sitting on his desk, beating desperately. It was a marvelous sight, a hungering one. Glistening muscle, seeping with blood and pumping needily. It was begging, cursing, praying to be touched. He began to ground himself as he listened to Will’s final breaths, picking up the beating heart and carnally sinking his fangs into it. He needed the memory of Will alive to exist inside him forever. Hannibal devoured the heart, tasting sharp iron in the back of his throat as he swallowed piece after piece, eager tongue running over his lips to avoid letting even a single drop go to waste. Graham’s flesh replaced his own, and for a moment he felt a second heartbeat in his chest as Will’s stopped moving. Blood was seeping from the corners of his mouth as he chewed through the muscle, chest aching with pain unlike any other.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ That was it. Will was gone. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ Lecter could feel an unnamed emotion building up in his throat. His jaw was sealed shut akin to a Pandora’s box; he knew that once he allowed his mouth open to scream it would never stop. The world would perish at the horrors of his pain. It would suffer for Will’s death. It deserved no mercy for depriving him of the only thing deserving of his love. Lecter would feel himself weep, but he heard no sound, instead screaming out in anger as his body began to contort itself and fuse uncontrollably. His bones shrank, every joint cracking in the process as his skin resized. Lecter wept and wept in agony, knowing he deserved every single moment of the pain and more. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ He appeared in front of a mirror, looking into it and seeing Will’s face look back at him. They had finally become fully conjoined. One consumed the other, a full and complete absorption. There was no separating now.  _   
  
The last thing Lecter remembered before waking up was clawing at his own face.   
  
His eyes met the bleak confines of his cell yet again, for a moment reaching out and dreading to find Will’s corpse beside him. Or maybe aching to. Unsurprisingly, he was met with a glaring emptiness. Hannibal could’ve sworn he still tasted blood in his mouth, saliva entirely replaced by the rich liquid, coating his tongue and driving him mad. He sighed.   
  
\---   
  
Will was woken up by gentle kisses being pressed to his temple, turning to see Molly beside him. “Good morning, loverboy,” she teased, running a hand through his hair. “Ready for today? I’ll be leaving soon.” Molly gave his chin a soft peck before she got up, making her way to the bathroom. Will sighed, delighted by the opportunity this morning to get lost in a moment of quiet appreciation. Molly was lyrical. The way she touched everything with such tenderness and pressed kisses like they were meant to be saved and kept on a display shelf. Her laugh echoed in a perfect crescendo, beginning with a small giggle and escalating to a passionate roar. She loved like no one else. So quietly and so openly. Graham smiled as she came out of the bathroom. A genuine smile. He was getting married today.   
  
Molly was beaming with joy, feeling it flutter in her chest, threatening to set itself free and fly off into the distance. Wally was asleep (he was ecstatic to get permission to skip school), the dogs were fed, and she felt fantastic. She was about to be picked up by some friends, who offered to do her makeup and get her dressed. Molly knew Will wasn’t one for elegant festivities, but this was a compromise after all. He’d have some time alone in the cabin, then Brian and Jimmy would be there to help out with the rest.  _ Thankfully _ , Molly thought, _t_ _ here’s no way Will could look formal without help _ . Though after this he’d never need to. He’d be her fisherman, cop, rugged husband, and super-dad to Wally. This was about to be the best day of her life.   
  
They said their goodbyes, Molly taking her son by the hand and leading him out. Will could read her giddiness from the pep in her step, and the way her eyes gleamed with every word that left her lips. It was intoxicating to see her so happy. He wished his heart could record this moment and exist in this feeling forever.    
  
As soon as the door closed behind them, however, Will was left alone with his thoughts. He munched on the remainder of the scrambled eggs that Molly had prepared, patting Winston’s head in the silence. The calm radiating through his body, soothing over his skin and doting on his brain softly. Will momentarily felt a hand on his forehead, caressing it in a familiar fashion. Before he could lean into the touch, the feeling was gone.    
  
His mind was wandering places again, no surprises there. Will approached the suit that had hung in the wardrobe for two months now, finally ready after a billion fittings and a thousand revisions. It was plain, black, and loose, hanging further from his skin than he would’ve liked.    
  
Than Hannibal would’ve liked.    
  
Will corrected himself quickly. He couldn’t care less about what his suit looked like. Frankly, appearances were never his forte and he was glad Molly knew that. She had specifically instructed him to wait until Jimmy made it at the least, though he dreaded the man’s dry laugh and inquisitive nature. As if right on cue, the doorbell rang and he was soon welcomed by a very excited Jimmy and Zeller. The dogs rallied behind Will, patiently waiting as both men immediately attended to them. “Who’s a good little doggy?” Price mused, watching Zoe pipe up and lean into his touch. In a way, Will was lucky to have the dogs as a barrier. At least it’d give them something to discuss.   
  
Unsurprisingly, rumors spread quickly around the Bureau. Some said Will had spent his last year with Hannibal completely drugged and subdued. Others argued that Graham was smitten. Most couldn’t even wrap the idea around their head enough to form an opinion, instead just listening to the multitude of gossip, followed by Jack Crawford’s shushing. There was so much to sweep under the rug that the layer under it had become caked with dust, raising the rug off of the floor and serving as a constant reminder of the skeletons in everyone’s closets. Figuratively and literally.   
  
“So, Will,” Zeller started, smiling politely. “How’s it all going? Ready for your big day?” Will read right through the falsities. He could see from the glimmer in Brian’s eyes that he was there to eke out as much information as possible. It’d be a few brief moments before Will’s face was all over TattleCrime, covered in shitty pink lettering and a sensational headline.   
  
“Yeah. Ecstatic, actually,” he didn’t realize how deadpan his voice sounded until Price let out a little giggle.    
  
“Leave it up to Will Graham to be the world’s most expressive husband,” Jimmy kid, eyes searching the room and landing on his suit as he came closer to inspect it. “Oh, that’s lovely. You ready to get dressed?” He watched as Will leaned against the wall, arms crossed defensively.   
  
“Yeah, yeah, absolutely,” he cracked a smile in an attempt to appease, making small talk. “Molly mentioned you have a good eye for these things. Told me if I get dressed by myself she’ll crucify me,” he grabbed the suit off the rack as Zeller laughed. “No offense, Graham, but I’d agree. Never saw you as one to have a good sense of fashion.”   
  
Will laughed a little, for a moment imagining what it’d be like to have his foot on Zeller’s head, to listen to him beg as he applied pressure. To watch his skull crack open. He wondered what Lecter would say if he knew what was going on in Will’s brain. He couldn’t imagine the kind of intimacy the doctor would offer.    
  
_ Most likely a painful kind _ , Will reminded himself. Where Hannibal went, pain followed, and today was finally the day he could complete his fortress and keep Lecter out. They would talk, but Hannibal could no longer feel for the latch of his mind palace. In fact, Will was going as far as hiding the doorknob, knowing Lecter wouldn’t hesitate to break in if he could.    
  
He was dressed after a frustrating few minutes. The fabric didn’t feel quite right and the fit was awkward, but Will recalled Molly assuring him that everything looked good. Will stepped out of the bathroom, cracking a small smile when Zeller and Price reacted genuinely for the first time that day, immediately approaching him to make adjustments. They fixed his collar, adjusted his tie, straightened his shirt, until he felt the need to hold painfully still lest he ruin everything that they had just worked on. Will was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude, watching as Price doted over the fit of his trousers carefully. Maybe others cared about him more than he thought. Maybe he really had a chance.   
  
\---   
  
The wedding was beautiful, to say the least. Margot made her way into the ballroom, holding Ezra’s hand, the boy, in turn, holding Alana’s. Her black dress cascaded off her shoulders, ending right above her knees, the whole look accompanied by high heels and jewelry from designers that Alana always struggled to pronounce. She smiled at the thought, watching Alana in her element, tending to Ezra while strutting in her gorgeous suit. They made their way to the rows, taking a seat and crossing their legs simultaneously.    
  
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Alana looked around, in amazement. She noticed all the little details that Molly had been mentioning for weeks on end. The rusticity of it, the white flowers, the warm and cozy interior. It was so perfect and simultaneously so not Will. He looked very silly against the backdrop of botany and softness, Alana was a lot more used to seeing him wide-eyed and covered in a mixture of blood and sweat. Seeing him at peace brought her indescribable joy.   
  
“Can’t believe Lecter isn’t here to see this,” Margot hummed, gaze also fixed on Will. He cleaned up damn well, looking nothing like the man she’d caught at home that one fateful evening. She was haunted by some aspects of her past, of course. In a way, she always would be. But so would Will. Looking at him right there and then was so symbolic not only for his own progression into life without pain, but hers too. Margot envied the fact that he was living this moment right now; she wished she could replay the second she fell in love with Alana over and over again.    
  
The processional music began and momentarily, Will was transported into the world of his nightmares. Seeing the doors open, watching people audibly gasp, some part of him expected to see a large stag prepared to wreak havoc.   
  
His soul was eased when he saw Molly.   
  
She was ethereal. Not walking, but floating down the aisle. At this very second, absolutely nothing else in the room mattered. Graham had tunnel vision; thinking that if someone had told him that Molly was the only human being left in the world, he wouldn’t complain for a single moment. He was dying to be close to her, to hold her in his arms. There were so many things she would never understand, things Will couldn’t begin to explain, things that he would rather hide, but they could share a life together. She was the human representation of hope, of love, of a possible return to normality for him. For a moment, Hannibal Lecter didn’t exist.   
  
Until he did. He slipped into Will’s head like an earworm, wriggling between his brain cells, tugging on his neurons, burrowing into his cerebrum. “Is this everything you’ve ever wanted?” Echoed in his mind again and again. It was impossible to answer, considering Will seldom knew exactly what he wanted. He wondered if this ballroom was his cage like Lecter had said. Adorned with flowers and bows and beautiful furniture, but a cage first and foremost. His eyes teared up and he heard members of the audience “aw”, noticing that Molly had now made it all the way in front of him. He took her hands, smiling softly as she wiped the tears off of his face.   
  
Before she knew it, it was time for vows.    
  
Molly shakily pulled a crumpled piece of paper. She cleared her throat, eyes fixed on the sheet even though she had thoroughly memorized every word.    
  
“When we first met, I think it’s fair to say that both of us were lost,” she began, meeting his eyes in a loving gaze. “We’d spent so much of our lives devoted to causes that broke us, and things that made us wonder if there’s a better life ahead at all. After my time of knowing you, I can safely say that there’s no doubt in my mind about a better future.” He could hear her voice starting to waver a bit. She wanted to curse under her breath, laughing nervously as she continued.    
  
“I vow to create a safe space for you, to always be in your corner, to never back down from a challenge, and always to devote myself to your happiness. I vow to be someone you can confide in, someone to share the difficulties of the past, the joys of the present, and the uncertainty of the future,” she said. Will squeezed her hand, feeling himself start to get teary.

“I want to marry you because I want to know everything. I want to know your passions, your fears, what keeps you up at night, and what gets you up in the morning. You are eternally fascinating to me and I love everything I know about you now, and trust that as we learn together, I will only love you more and more,” Molly was in tears now, smiling happily and looking up at her husband-to-be. He looked gentle at this moment. A softness in his eyes that she could live in forever. She could not have met a better man, and now she was never going to let him go.  
  
It was Will’s turn. He couldn’t help but mentally scoff at the idea of Molly finding out what keeps him up at night. If she knew, they probably wouldn’t be standing here right now. Though her irrevocable love was something Will was still wrapping his head around, so he wasn’t exactly sure. He cleared his throat, suddenly extremely aware of the number of people in the room. Every single person there had their own thoughts, ideas, opinions on him, and on this relationship. He was going to prove them wrong once and for all.  
  
Will fumbled for the paper in his pocket as well, staring at it with intent and opening his mouth to breathe, wishing the words could come out organically. _Don’t think of him. I’m not caged. Don’t think of him._   
  
“I’m not caged,” he uttered, watching in horror as Molly’s face scrunched in confusion. As soon as the words left his mouth, the whole room collapsed inwards and bound around him. Will’s body tensed like a prey animal about to meet its fate, eyes wide and afraid as he processed what he had just said in a room full of people watching him and Molly be wed. He needed a way out. Now.  
  
Molly’s mind began racing as she tried to read this expression, the butterflies in her stomach becoming a stampede of elephants in milliseconds. She prayed that this was the world’s strangest metaphor. Poor, darling, Will. In shambles in front of all of these people. And what the hell was he talking about?  
  
“I’m no longer caged by my past,” Will started again, trying to speak up but feeling something malicious within him grasping onto the vocal cords. Hannibal Lecter was the lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow with any amount of water. He cleared his throat repeatedly, watching Molly’s face soften with concern, as it always did when Will was like this. He didn’t deserve her.   
  
“You came into my life with a pair of bolt cutters and pulled me out. Every day since then, it has been you. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. I’m all yours,” he watched her start to cry, clasping onto his hands and kissing them softly. The whole room was in a silence, basking in the feeling of love between the newlyweds.  
  
“I vow to wake up next to you every morning and go to sleep beside you every night. I vow to watch Wally grow old and to try my best not to pick up every stray dog in sight, though I can’t promise that,” he laughed softly, relieved about his recovery. 

  
“May our days be long, and may they be seasoned with peace, understanding, and respect, forever and ever. Today is the beginning of the rest of our lives. I choose to spend today, and all of my tomorrows, with you.” Their eye contact lingered, grinning at each other like fools before hearing the fateful words:   
  
“You may kiss the bride!”   
  
The room erupted in applause as their lips met. He tasted tears on both of their lips, pulling Molly closer before they pulled away for air. She was truly beautiful.    
  
But she wasn’t his to love.   
  
\---  
  
It had been a week since he and Molly had settled into married life. Nothing had changed, except they were now permanently fumbling with rings on their fingers. And Wally spent a lot more time whining at their affection towards each other.  
  
There were other things on his mind, though. He stood outside of the BSHCI once again, hands clenched into tight fists and throat unbelievably dry. Will walked calculatingly to the building, looking around to make sure no one was visible as he made his way indoors. Yet again met by Alana and a few familiar guards, giving them a quick hello and hearing another pep talk from Alana. Her hand was clasped on his shoulder as she sighed. "Please be careful. They had to restrain him a few times last week. Bad dreams, apparently." Will didn't know if he was pleased with this information or not. To be thought about is a wonderful thing, but he'd never imagined himself as someone else's nightmare fuel. If those bad dreams were about him at all, that is.  
  
Upon walking in, he heard the sound of processional music being hummed by Hannibal, feeling the urge to roll his eyes so far back into his head that they'd be at threat of getting lost. The man was in prison for life and still had the audacity and energy to mock him.  
  
"Hannibal," Will said quietly, feeling like the lingering hunger in the pit of his stomach had been immediately satisfied. He looked just the same as last week, though there were bags under his eyes.  
  
"Hello, Will," Lecter said simply, looking up at him with what looked like a neutral expression, but felt like disdain. "You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you smell yourself?" Each word was sharper and more cutting than the last. Lecter was hurting, and deeply so. Will wished he could do something, anything. Gut himself again, collapse onto Lecter's kitchen floor, bend anyone into any shape necessary, just to never see that expression on his face again. He looked away for a moment, trying to remain stern.  
  
"I expected more of you, doctor. That routine is old hat," he watched Lecter physically respond to those words, taking a step forward. Defensive turned offensive.  
  
"Whereas you are a new man. Are you a good husband, Will?" Hannibal always knew which questions to ask to make him squirm. Will's eyes flooded with guilt as he was brought back to that ceremony and his embarrassing slip, and the fact that he was thinking about this man at his own wedding. It was pathetic how much he longed. He didn't exactly know what for, but there was a painful gap where his heart had once been that seared every time Lecter took a step forward.  
  
Before Will could defend himself, Hannibal sighed. "All these years I've marveled at my creation, at you, just to see it remove the very essence of its existence. Are you going to miss yourself, Will? Are you going to miss me?"  
  
He felt his knees get weak as his entire body covered itself in goosebumps, which felt more akin to hundreds of small bites all along his back and shoulders. Will felt like he was being burnt alive, standing in front of Hannibal's altar and repenting for his sins. His heart ached to ask for forgiveness, to get on his knees and allow Lecter to chastise him for everything he'd done wrong. But he just stood silently.  
  
Hannibal already knew the answer. He was just curious what would happen if he asked.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies!
> 
> How's everyone doing? I hope this was all good fun! I can't wait to see where it all goes <]:v)
> 
> Hope your day is going well!
> 
> \- Newt xx
> 
> (Some wedding vow excerpts were taken from here => https://www.hitched.co.uk/wedding-planning/organising-and-planning/wedding-vows/#:~:text=Wedding%20Vows%20for%20Her&text=%E2%80%9CI%20promise%20to%20be%20your,and%20loving%20wife%2Fhusband.%E2%80%9D&text=%E2%80%9CI%20vow%20to%20hold%20your,%2Fwife%20for%20all%20time.%E2%80%9D&text=%E2%80%9CI%20want%20to%20marry%20you%20because%20I%20want%20to%20know%20everything. )


	5. Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margot and Alana spend a day discussing their past. Will and Molly find answers to different questions, and are both terrified at the results.

Margot watched Ezra toddle adorably in front of her, leaning against Alana as they walked. It was a sunny afternoon and they’d decided to visit the stables, despite Bloom’s protests. The prospect of a young boy surrounded by such large animals unnerved her, but the reassurance of her wife’s hand in hers was everything she needed to stop catastrophizing.  
  
“Come on!” Margot tugged her and swooned as her son made his way to a beautiful, white, stallion. “This is Cookie,” Margot introduced him formally, picking the boy up and instructing him on how to pet the creature. “Cookie, this is Ezra. Say hi, Ezra,” she said, smiling as the boy tried his best to form words. “Hi,” he murmured shyly, hiding in her chest a little bit. Alana approached the horse, pulling out a carrot from the bag they’d brought and feeding him apprehensively. Even she was convinced now, taking another step and putting a sugar cube into her son’s tiny hand. He extended his palm forward, Alana’s hand below his to instruct him to keep it open, lest he lose any fingers.  
  
The silent, dim stables lit up with Ezra’s enthusiastic giggle, radiating pure tranquility. There was a sense of order in the air, as if after traveling for hundreds of light-years the rays of sunshine were happy to settle on them, allowing them to bask in the welcoming arms of the sun. The horse gobbled up the cube happily, ensuring to lick the boy’s hand clean in the process. He squirmed a little, erupting in yet another loud laugh, doe-eyes entranced by the strange-looking animal who wanted to be his friend.  
  
Alana took the boy into her arms and stepped back as Margot led the horse out, instructing her wife on how to mount the animal. Her foot went in the stirrup as she hoisted herself up, exclaiming happily as she clung on. Alana had memories of riding horses as a child, but nothing like this, not by herself. Her hands rested comfortably on the seat before she grabbed the reins, getting accustomed to them slowly but surely.  
  
Margot fixed Ezra’s helmet and pulled them both up expertly, having let Marlow out of his stable, instructing the horse to start moving as Alana’s followed. They rode in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Bloom looked up at her, gaze warm and loving. “You know, I never got to tell my mom about you,” she reminisced about the days she’d spend going to the bakery with her mother, picking out their choice of pastries for the day. How she always chose the saddest looking one because she felt bad that no one else would buy it. Even then she was trying to fix others, in her own little ways.  
  
Her wife smiled softly in response, nodding a little and letting Alana take her moment to consider the prospect. “What do you think she would have thought of me?” Her arm was wrapped tightly around Ezra, horse moving at the slowest pace imaginable. She knew Alana wouldn’t be able to stomach anything faster.  
  
“She would’ve loved you, undoubtedly,” the woman responded, lips curling up into a proper grin now. “She’d always say that out of anything in the world that she could wish for me, she hoped that I could find someone with the same amount of drive as I do. Always said that, given the resources, I could take over the world. I just needed the right partner.”  
  
Margot hummed happily, mind transported to a world where she didn’t have to meet Bloom through trauma or pain, where both of them just could’ve made eye contact in a cafe on a rainy afternoon and that could’ve been it. Though, perhaps that way they wouldn’t have even noticed each other. “Well, if I’ve got anything it’s drive,” she hummed, mentally revisiting every stepping stone she’d had to use to get to that point. The cacophony of her memories often managed to leak into her everyday life despite her best efforts; an ever-present reminder that she wasn’t quite whole. She would often lay in bed beside Alana and ask the same question with different wordings. _How did we end up here?_ _  
_ _  
_ Alana always knew what she meant. Tender hands grazing through Margot’s hair often calmed her in scenarios like these, and Bloom made sure to remind her that, despite their circumstances, they were here now. Everything was okay. Mason was gone, Hannibal was locked away, Will had just gotten married, and Ezra was making great progress on the alphabet. Their array of staff surely helped, though it did often feel quite claustrophobic to have someone pick up a piece of clothing as soon as it was dropped, or wash dishes at a speed and efficiency so effective that Alana rarely remembered them being dirty. It was nothing like the childhood Bloom had, though perhaps that was for the better.  
  
The horses trotted happily along down the path, and suddenly the fortress of trees split like the red sea, revealing a beautiful open field. Margot was the first to dismount, letting Ezra chase a nearby butterfly as she reached for a very hesitant Alana, pulling her close and pressing a quick peck to her lips. “See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Their hands slid into each other’s instinctively, as if they were molded to be permanently attached. Bloom breathed in the fresh air, letting Margot tend to the horses as she chased after a giggly Ezra, watching in horror as he fell down and landed on his stomach. The fall wasn’t terrible at all, but within moments of seeing Alana’s shock, the boy began crying, knowing she’d be quick to tend to his worries.  
  
Margot turned with a near catlike reflex, finishing her intricate knots and jogging over to the poor boy, cooing as Alana pulled him into a hug. “Where does it hurt, darling? Where’s the boo-boo?” She almost laughed at her use of the word, immediately kissing the boy’s arm as he outstretched it with a small whine. His cheeks were puffy, but his bright blue eyes still shone beautifully in the sunlight, wide and inquisitive. “Come on, Alana, he’s alright,” Margot couldn’t help but look at her with the utmost affection as she let the boy go. Soon, they decided to seat themselves on a flat patch of grass, munching on packed sandwiches and drinking orange juice. Ezra, of course, had decided to bring his favorite toy - a plush bear that Molly gifted them on his first birthday.  
  
“You know, I’d relive everything that has happened to me again if I knew I’d end up here right now,” Margot said after some thought, sentiment deep but gaze absentminded. She was elsewhere, looking out into the distance as she leaned against Alana’s shoulder.  
  
“You don’t have to prove your affections for me by saying that, Margot. Nobody needs to live through what you had to experience.”  
  
“Likewise for you,” she hummed, pressing a soft kiss to her neck. “I love you.”  
  
“You’ve been saying that a lot lately,” Alana smiled softly.  
  
“I think it’s the wedding, you know? I haven’t seen Will… like that, ever really. It’s still sinking in that we’ve both moved on. If that makes sense.”  
  
Alana thought about it for a moment. “Do you think he’s actually moved on?” She regretted the question as soon as it left her lips. Bloom knew better than to cause more self-doubt, but she truly wanted to hear Margot’s opinion. After all, they weren’t stupid. It was strange watching Will… just become normal. Everything had happened so quickly that he would’ve barely had time to get over his previous life. To get over Lecter.  
  
“I’d like to think so,” Margot’s eyes now moved to stare into Alana’s analytically, trying to gauge whether she was implying that neither she nor Will were fully alright. It wasn’t an insult, but the bluntness of it didn’t feel nice either. “I’m going to be okay, Alana. I'm working on it, you know I am. And I hope that Will and Molly are getting on well together.” Her heart rate rose as she did her best not to consider the alternative. What if Will was still the same person? What if she hadn’t changed either?  
  
“I love you,” Alana responded. To the outsider, it might’ve looked late, but her timing was absolutely perfect. Margot took another bite of her sandwich, eyes closing momentarily. She couldn’t remember the last time she could close her eyes and not see anything behind them. Now all she sees is Ezra and Alana.  
  
\---

Will stood before Hannibal, the question still lingering in the air. _Are you going to miss me? Are you going to miss me? Are you going to miss me? Are you going to miss me?  
  
_ “Miss you?” Will couldn’t help but scoff, arms now crossed in front of him. He’d argue and say it was to assert dominance, but Hannibal could clearly see he was trying to close himself off physically. There was no way to close himself off emotionally, he’d done it for far too long. “I can’t miss what I haven’t lost, Hannibal. Ever heard of groundhog day?”  
  
He nodded slightly to indicate that he was listening. Lecter wanted nothing more in life than to hear Will admit something. To take responsibility for one thing in his life. To take responsibility for him.  
  
“I spend my days like that. Molly kisses me good morning, Walter gets dressed for school, I walk the dogs. I go give a lecture on one of four things, I get home, I kiss Molly, Walter tells me about his day and practices his magic tricks, we walk the dogs, I go to bed,” he realizes the monotony in his voice, reading the sadness in Hannibal’s eyes. He knew what he was going to say before his mouth even opened. Or maybe he didn’t.  
  
“Have you considered why you feel the need to reassure me that you and Molly are affectionate with each other?” Hannibal bit back, going to sit down in his seat and focusing his attention on drawing instead. The jealousy of Graham's ability to pick up a cookie-cutter family made his muscles tense with rage, jealousy seeping into his skin, jaw clenched tight. Will didn’t have anything to say, instinctively taking a step towards Hannibal. For some reason, the man's lack of attention towards him was making him feel uneasy and frustrated. Unwanted.  
  
“I hope you’re enjoying your game of Happy Families, Will. How long will this one last? Longer than Abigail and I? I believe you’re on a streak,” his voice was lower now, the sound of pencil sketching filling the silence ever so slightly. Somehow, it felt worse. It was clear to Will that Hannibal was preoccupying himself to avoid showing weakness. To evade vulnerability while cracking into Graham’s ribcage just to hold his heart in his hands. His presence was invasive, filling his lungs with heavy, dark tar, making him hitch a breath every time he saw a stag or a man in a plaid suit. Will felt Hannibal’s hands running under his skin, caringly grazing over his muscles and drenching themselves in his blood. “You killed her, Hannibal.”  
  
“No, Will. We did,” he was quick to retort, looking up at him momentarily. “Clearly the issue wasn’t forming a family. It was me." He waited for a beat to allow Will to process the gravity of this statement. Hannibal wished this was manipulation or something he'd said to inflict pain, but his next question was genuine. "Tell me, Will, what was it about me that made me deserving of your betrayal?”  
  
The room filled with an awfully familiar silence as they stared at each other for a moment. Hannibal thought about standing up briefly, instead putting his pencil aside and looking at Will expectantly, waiting for at least an ounce of genuineness. Some display of emotions rather than another cutting remark that served as deflection.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Hannibal. Seriously?” There it was.  
  
“You don’t truly mean to tell me that murder was the issue,” Lecter looked up, giving Will a knowing look. Graham hated it, a beehive nestling within his stomach and swarming through his esophagus, leaving behind prickly stings. He hated feeling so exposed, but nothing drove him more than the prospect of being seen. He couldn’t leave, not just yet.  
  
“I didn’t believe you,” his voice came out much quieter than he intended. And it was true. Through all his life Will had been mostly alone, maturing from a lonely child to a lonely adult. His coworkers feared his abilities, students considered him distant, Alana had a professional curiosity that got in the way of everything, Beverly…  
  
Will took a moment to consider his relationship with her, wishing Hannibal didn’t have to be in the room as he paid her a moment of silence. His thoughts wandered into the foyer of his mind palace, tentatively entering the shooting range, and there she stood, as if nothing had happened. Her eyes were focused on the target, stance impeccable as always. She was beautiful in her concentration, determined to obliterate yet another cutout until she noticed Will, giving him a small wave. He always appreciated that she wasn’t overbearing, nor was she overly nosy. Beverly didn’t pry, judge, assess. Beverly stepped into everything with a compassion and loyalty beyond that of anything Will had ever seen. He grimaced. She went before she got to see him free, before she truly got to process everything that had happened.  
  
_“You know he isn’t good for you,” Beverly said confidently, not prompted by anything in particular. Will knew she was simply an illusion, a thought, but she was also a voice of reason. Somebody had to say it. “Run, Will. Run far, far away, while you still can, and remember that-”_  
  
His internal dialogue was interrupted by a sound he’d never heard Hannibal emit before. It was something close to a sigh, followed by a quiet humming, as if he was trying to prevent a much more vigorous reaction. His hands were clenched into fists and he finally stood, approaching the screen like a ringleader about to interact with a hungry lioness. Lecter's body shook and he could taste bile in the back of his throat. The blood that coursed through his veins felt borrowed. Will was lending him a will to live, and all Hannibal could think to offer in return was truthful sentiments. Ones that he'd never dare utter in a situation where he wasn't locked in a room with nothing on his mind but the one man who built and ruined him. Lecter felt a build-up of a scream in his chest, jaw finally unhinging.  
  
“Would you believe me if I said I love you now?”  
  
Silence. Will’s vision began to fade, heart throbbing in his ears. Something crawled up from beneath the Earth, clutching onto his thigh and digging its dirty claws into his skin until it drew blood, tearing every muscle and ligament on its way down. He wasn’t breathing, or at least it didn’t feel like it, Lecter was forcing the air in and out of his lungs from a couple of meters away. He was nowhere to be found every time Will turned, but he could’ve sworn that he felt rough hands on his neck. His mind raced with a million thoughts, the loudest one being, _why now?_  
  
He attempted to steady himself, desperately unsuccessful as he leaned against the wall, focusing on the floor for a moment. As if on cue, Will's skin split open, blood gushing out of every conceivable orifice and leaving space for the sprouting of horns. The antlers didn't retain their structure, instead growing in jagged lines, as if to ensure that every coming second was more painful than the last. He contorted, ached, almost screamed. Sweat pooled on his forehead and right before he found himself near collapse, his eyes met Hannibal's.  
  
_Tears.  
  
  
_ The man wasn't fully sobbing, but for his icy exterior, it was enough to startle Will to the point where he didn't know how to feel anxious any longer, fixating his gaze on the tear running down Hannibal's cheek. His breathing slowed as he watched Lecter press a hand against the screen once again. His hand twitched to reach for it, but he refrained.   
_  
_ There was a period of time where his heart was open to Hannibal. Where he could see them sitting across from each other at breakfast and exchanging morning news, or discussing the semantics of a subject that didn’t matter to anyone but them. And Abigail would be there with a collection of scarves, surprising them both, fully dressed in fishing gear. They’d step out onto the water and all watch as Lecter finally admitted at being bad at fishing, though he’d still do amazingly well for a beginner. Will would take them home and admire Hannibal as he made another dish they couldn’t pronounce, and they would all laugh at the dinner table. Their silence would be peaceful. Unaffected by their past.  
  
Instead, he was here, battling between normality and passion. His body ached for tender mornings and simple conversations, but his lips yearned for the taste of blood in his mouth. His mind begged for a moment of quiet, but his heart knew that all he wanted to do was scream. It was all too much to bear and he took multiple steps back, suddenly gaining a frenzied look in his eyes. Will was cornered from all ends, wanting to leave but feeling paralyzed. A stag in headlights.   
  
The fear pained Hannibal to see. His lips quivered as he absorbed yet another wordless answer from the man, retreating to his bed instead. He knew Will wasn’t watching but he could still see him, and he did see right through him. It wasn’t the words that Will was afraid of, it was his response to them. Lecter despised it. The repression was disgraceful and disheartening; it was torture to watch Will not allow himself the one thing he’d spent so long craving. Pining for. Will was a demon who trapped his mind in a role that let him believe he was afraid of sin. It would be laughable and ironic if it didn't hurt.   
  
“You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight,” Hannibal said, a lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. His eyes filled with a fresh set of tears. He was doomed to remain in this cell forever, being peered at and played around with like a circus animal a few times a week, whenever Will pleased. He didn't need to ask himself whether God ever gloated, the answers were crystal clear right there.   
  
“Goodbye, Hannibal,” Will managed hastily, dashing out as if the floor of the room had suddenly turned to hot coals. He left the tension lingering somehow, settling over Hannibal’s chest and pressing down on it threateningly. It’s what he deserved for opening his heart up to someone so unsure of themselves, so erratic, so undecided. Lecter despised himself, yet couldn’t find another way. He had perfect precision on every other aspect of his life, but Hannibal had no control with respect to whom he fell in love. And, for better or for worse, neither did Will.  
  
Will leaped into the car at breakneck speed, wishing he could turn on windshield wipers for his eyes. Before he could stop it, a guttural groan escaped his chest, as if he had just been stabbed. In some ways he wished he would’ve been, at least that way he would’ve deserved it.  
  
He came home, grateful to know that nobody would be there for a few hours. His heart stopped when he saw Molly on the couch, tending to his dogs. Will didn’t give her an opportunity to say anything, simply making his way upstairs with utmost determination. He couldn’t touch her right now. Lecter was in his heart and in his mind and the feeling of anyone else against his skin felt unclean. Will rushed into the shower, trying to burn, ice, scratch the words off of his body. They were branded onto his skin, invisible but ever-present. Why did he feel unfaithful? Why did this feel like cheating? How could Hannibal say that?

Molly didn’t know what to do or say. Will didn’t come downstairs for dinner, he didn’t send her a text, he didn’t even acknowledge Wally when the boy came home. She didn’t pry, she never did. Molly silently put her son to bed, fed the dogs, and sat in front of the laptop, deciding that, for the first time in her life, it was okay to be invasive. Within minutes of searching, the headlines that made an appearance in front of her sounded almost too silly to be true. Her heart sank when she read the phrase  
  
“Murder Husbands”.  
  
She never had an issue with anyone’s sexuality before, in fact, it was a topic that she had brought up with Will before regarding herself. The least he could’ve done was extend the same courtesy.  
  
The images were not affectionate, but the look in Graham’s eyes was almost unfamiliar. It’s as if he was staring at something beyond human life, beyond the traditional definition of love. It was a look of pure worship that was reserved, apparently, for his dogs and for Hannibal Lecter. Molly found herself falling deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole, not even trying to grab onto a nearby branch and pull herself out. Every single photo made her skin itch and her chest burst into flames. She recalled the quiet whispers between Will’s coworkers and the inquisitive glances which she attributed to his perceived social awkwardness. Something had clenched a tight fist around her heart and refused to let go. Molly needed something to convince her that she was misreading this, that the man who had become Wally’s father figure and the love of her life wasn’t what these articles made them out to be. She searched for a name, a clue, anything.  
  
“Freddie Lounds,” she read out loud to herself, grabbing a nearby pen and noting down her phone number. She was going to figure out what the fuck was going on.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi team!
> 
> I hope you're having a lovely week! How do we feel about this one? It was a bit of a nightmare to write hahaha
> 
> Love you all,
> 
> \- Newt xxx


	6. Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedelia gave Will some clarity, which he later extended to Hannibal. Lounds and Molly finally started a discussion.

It had been two weeks. Will vowed to himself that that was it, and as he sat in front of Bedelia, he wondered what she thought of his rationalisations. At every passing comment, she bit back in a very psychiatric way, and he found himself irritated by her perceptiveness, knowing he’d previously never let anyone but Hannibal to crack open into his skull. Bedelia never failed to make Will’s blood boil, thumping in his ears rhythmically every time she spoke. She had gotten to see Florence. To visit elaborate parties and pose as a trophy wife. To run away with Hannibal. Will sighed at the prospect, annoyed by the ever-present envy in his heart, at her life, and at her ability to get away unscathed.    
  
“It's hard to predict when brittle materials will break. Hannibal gave you three years to build a family and a life, confident he'd find a way to take them from you.” Bedelia studied his expression. It was no wonder that Will had changed since their interaction in the BSHCI, but the shift in demeanour rendered him almost unrecognisable. He was sitting in the seat, shoulders broad and posture almost impeccable. He’d learned from the best, after all.   
  
“And he has,” Will winced. His mind wandered to the way Molly was now, to the quiet evenings, to the separate dinners. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t letting it sink in. Ignorance had become bliss in his world, but every time their hands brushed he was reminded of the look in Hannibal’s eyes, and every time Wally smiled he saw Abigail in the reflection of his eyes.    
  
“What's he going to take from you?” He suddenly spoke up. Will did have a new sense of poise, but he was nowhere near Lecter’s level in terms of being able to control his impulsive remarks. His hands throbbed, momentarily desiring to clench at the woman's slender throat and take what Hannibal hadn't managed to get.    
  
There was a glimmer in Bedelia’s eyes. “Is it important to you that he take something from me? We both know you've paid dearly. That knowledge will lie against your skin forever,” she paused, considering Hannibal’s motivations. “It excites him to see you marked in this particular way.”   
  
“Why?” he asked, though the answer was blaring in his head like an orchestral trumpet. It almost felt silly to require clarification, but he needed to hear it from someone else. He wanted Bedelia to reassure him that he wasn’t going completely insane. Her gaze did not do anything to make him feel more comfortable, knowing she was playing the age-old game of staying silent to eke out more information from him. He obliged.   
  
Will’s heart picked up the pace, intestines feeling like snakes, twisting involuntarily and giving him a stomach ache. He felt a searing pain in his back in the shape of a circle, the rest of his body following suit in the pain of injuries. Will could feel Hannibal’s suffering against him, eyes screwed shut as he leaned back, trying to fight the merging of their bodies together. He couldn’t absorb Lecter completely. Not until he had an answer.   
  
“Is Hannibal... in love with me?” The question rang out in the room, bouncing off every single wall before hitting Bedelia in the chest. She almost had to stifle a laugh, giving Will an incredulous look but quickly suppressing it in her aim to remain completely professional. His cluelessness sometimes fascinated her; for someone so undoubtedly perceptive, Will was absolutely useless on all matters of the heart. It would almost be endearing had the object of his desire not been Hannibal Lecter.   
  
She recalled session after session of Hannibal, bright eyes and joyful tone, describing the intricacies of every single interaction with Will. A worshipper at the throne of a mortal, wielding power unknown to any living man except Lecter. Will was only the person Hannibal couldn’t bring himself to kill, physical hunger being overridden by the overwhelming flood of emotions every time their eyes met. Every waking second without Graham was agonising to him, making his stomach twist and skin practically scream to be embraced.   
  
“Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment in the very sight of you? Yes.” Bedelia looked up, eyes transfixed on Will’s expression.   
  
His hands gripped onto the armchair ever so slightly, breathing suddenly irregular. Will recalled feeling like Hannibal was pushing the air into his lungs, wondering if he could exhale calmer if Lecter was in the room right now. Will’s back felt the familiar rush of goosebumps, eyes closing for a moment to process this information. Though it wasn’t news, it felt unbelievable to hear.   
  
“But do you ache for him?”   
  
Will didn’t need to consider his answer to that question. He had to see Hannibal.   
  
\---   
  
The now familiar room beckoned Will in, long, grazing fingers wrapping themselves around his waist and before he knew it, dragging him inside despite his hesitation.   
  
“I owe you an apology,” Will mumbled, pulling out the seat and situating himself in it comfortably. His legs were crossed and he gazed up at Hannibal with a new bout of confidence. There was a moment of acceptance within that time... where he assessed the situation and decided for himself that perhaps Hannibal remaining in his life was okay. Perhaps he wanted it more than he cared to admit.    
  
“I’m aware,” Hannibal looked up, hands folded in his lap as he hummed. He waited, quietly excited to bask in the sound of regret.    
  
“I didn’t mean to leave,” Will tried again, not sure if his mouth was physically capable of producing an apology at this point. “You scared me.”   
  
“I did no such thing. You are fully responsible for your own reactions. The onus is on you to cope with these feelings and react accordingly,” his eyes met the paper yet again. Hannibal had been debating sending him a letter, or a drawing, or anything. Perhaps as a reminder, perhaps as revenge. He considered his intentions clear in every case but this; since it was terribly hard to imagine a best case scenario that didn’t involve visions of Will sharing his cell, his bed, his heartbeat. He sighed.   
  
“You are fully responsible for provoking me,” Will shifted in his seat, recalling his conversation with Bedelia.  _ Do you ache for him? _ _  
_ _  
_ “There is nothing more provocative than indifference, Will. You are repressing your emotions in favour of normality, and I respect your ability to do that. It’s something that I clearly failed to perfect,” he gestured to his general existence, suddenly very aware of his clothing. It clung to his skin in some places and hung off others; he frankly couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn something that wasn’t tailored.   
  
Will’s eyes followed his gaze, noticing the brief yet loud moment of insecurity. The room suddenly felt awfully warm and he felt inclined to look away, feeling like he was intruding on something. “What is your idea of normality?” Will asked, being genuine perhaps for the first time since they’d started meeting. He tried to conjure up an image in his head of what Lecter considered his regular day to day life: going to the opera, cooking elaborate meals, playing the harpsichord, socialising to no end. Will had no idea how he would’ve had time for all of it, nor did he want to think about what in the world Hannibal did with all the time on his hands now.    
  
“I imagine you would see me as a perpetual socialite, fluttering like a helpless bird, in need of attention,” Hannibal began, mirroring Will’s crossed legs. “Truth be told, I always envied quiet family life.” He hummed, letting himself be transported there.    
  
_ The morning dew outside the cabin gleamed as Hannibal stepped out onto the porch, followed by a ragtag group of dogs (the looks of which evaded him, mind instead conjuring a group of 7 random dogs that seemed to fit well enough). He yawned, stretching out languidly and holding up a much appreciated cup of coffee to his mouth. It tasted vile, to be quite honest, but paired with the sight of falling autumn leaves and the sound of two people snoring from indoors, Hannibal considered it the best coffee of his life. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ After letting out the dogs, he stepped back inside to be met with the sight of Abigail and Will haphazardly making breakfast, pots and pans flying everywhere and spilling an oddly-colored batter all over the countertop. He couldn’t control his facial muscles as they involuntarily spread into a smile, canines peeking out from beyond his lips briefly.  _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Get out of the way!” Abigail exclaimed, holding a hot pan in her hand as she flipped a pancake, letting it land lopsidedly and form more of a lump than a flat circle. Will laughed, eyes darting to the pile of other reject pancakes waiting to be thrown away (or, more accurately, consumed by Will throughout the cooking process). “Hannibal,” Will said delightedly, reaching out for him. The kitchen was small and crowded, much to Lecter’s disdain, filled with mismatching plates, different-colored cutlery and accented with a horrible teal colour. He let it all go when Will sighed into his neck.  _   
  
“Never saw you as one for the quiet joys of family life,” Will said agreeably, lost in thought.    
  
“Family values may have declined over the last century, but we still return to our families when we can,” Hannibal almost cursed at Will for dragging him out of his second of peace and quiet. He was entranced by the home’s smell of cinnamon and clean sheets, by the way the light rays nestled on Will’s face, the way Abigail’s laugh filled the room. Considering this, he watched Will with intent, wondering what he thought of when asked about family.   
  
“You’re family, Will,” he added. There was no sense of falsity in his voice, nor did it waver even for a moment. He had entertained the concept of labelling their relationship before then, but the task always seemed insurmountable when paired with Will’s blatant denial and Hannibal’s incessant need to stay in control.   
  
Will opened his mouth to speak, closing it again, and then repeating the action. He thought about his family at home, wondering whether Molly was thinking about him too. Shaking the thought out of his head, he looked up at Hannibal and took a moment to admire his striking features. He contemplated arguing with him, stating that they defied almost every traditional definition of a family, but then again, they defied most things. Including each other.   
  
“Family is there for you when you’re in need. What do you need, Hannibal?”   
  
‘You’ was, of course, the first thought that crossed Lecter’s mind. He looked around the confines of his cell, having memorised every corner, every crook, every minor imperfection. The walls often felt like they were tightening in on him, making him curl inwards. “I need to see the sun,” he said, after another pause to ponder. “In Chinese mythology, there were originally ten suns in the sky, rendering the world too hot for anything to grow. A young man named Hou Yi shot down the other nine. He’s honored to this day,” he stood, acutely aware of the fact that he was standing over Will. “Unfortunately I live on a planet where the sun is cursed to rise only once a week,” he said, a melancholy look in his eye.    
  
Graham knew what he meant. Hannibal had many suns in his life that he needed to attend to, but Will was the one he was referring to. His voice fell to a near-whisper as his eyes dragged from Lecter’s feet all the way to his eyes, lingering for a moment too long to seem accidental. “I’m right here,” he finally managed, peering up at the man through his eyelashes. His throat tightened with the thought of mentioning his conversation with Bedelia, trying to suppress the urge. Will didn’t know what her motives were, nor did he know much of what he absorbed from the chat was wishful thinking.   
  
To Hannibal, Will was truly right there. The sound of blood rushing in Hannibal’s ears echoed in Will’s voice, and every time he took a step he imagined Will taking one beside him. “Ever-present. At least in my mind palace,” his arms were loosely at his sides, and it was clear that his stance was relaxed overall, nothing like it had been the last time they saw each other.   
  
“Do you visit it often?” Will said, unaware of the hope soaking his voice.    
  
“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”    
  
“I’m not sure I visit it as much as it visits me. Throughout the years it has become a bit more of a haunted house,” Will laughed sadly, now getting up as well. “It stands tall, though it’s tucked away in the back of my mind. I guess in some ways so are a lot of things. The crime, the bodies, Abigail-” he paused. “You.”   
  
“Being tucked away has never felt so comfortable. I think I’ve made quite a home there,” Hannibal tried to imagine what he was doing while settled in the depths of Will’s mind. Was he covered in blood? Gutting someone? Looking at a passerby in disdain?   
  
Every time Will closed his eyes, Hannibal was cooking. Hands moving with surgical precision, he assembled ingredients gracefully and with little strain. Will was leaning against the kitchen counter, letting the sound of opera fill the room. It was incredible watching the man work, and even more incredible that he chose Will as his company. He sighed quietly at the thought of their peaceful dinners years ago, sat across from each other and moving in tandem, resembling a mirror.   
  
“Trust Hannibal Lecter to be the world’s most pleasant parasite,” Will’s mouth moved into a shape that almost resembled a smile. “A lot less lonely to have someone in your head, if you ask me.”   
  
“I concur. You’re welcome company, Will.”   
  
“Family often isn’t,” he replied, entranced in Hannibal’s stance. He was so open, so honest, so gentle right now.   
  
“If there’s anyone I’d expect to go beyond the traditional family structures, it’d be us.”   
  
Will’s heart skipped a beat. They were an “us”.    
  
\---   
  
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice,” Molly smiled, putting her bag down as she sat across from a very intriguing woman. Her hair was bright red, clothes impeccable, and a camera dangled from her neck. “No, thank _you_ ,” she returned the smile, legs crossed as she put her notepad on the table. “You wouldn’t believe how long Jack Crawford has been trying to ward me off like I’m some sort of fly.”   
  
“What’s your issue with Jack?” she asked, genuinely curious.   
  
“My, has Will told you anything?” Lounds responded quite bluntly, placing her laptop onto the table and getting TattleCrime opened up, eyes darting as she tried to filter the articles by mentions of Will Graham.   
  
Molly shifted uncomfortably in her seat, unnerved by Freddie’s inquisitive gaze. Her lack of knowledge never worried her before, having prioritised Will’s mental health and his desire to share as much as he wanted, but, for the first time, that wasn’t quite cutting it. A lump formed in her throat, feeling akin to TV static and making her cough for a moment before she spoke up.    
  
“He preferred to keep most of his past private. I thought it was better that way. You know, not to have him relive all of that,” she realised how stupid that sounded now, face rooted in insecurity.   
  
“Well, I would too if I was him. I don’t even know where to start.”   
  
“At the beginning?”   
  
Freddie obliged. She pulled out an entire file of photos, laying them out on the table with no shame. If there was anything Lounds did well, it was her job. Not to mention how bad she felt for Molly, being manipulated by an antisocial freak at best, and a psychopathic murderer at worst. Her eyes filled with pity as Molly responded viscerally at the images, picking up each one and inspecting them with teary eyes. Murder, after murder, after murder. She’d known that Will worked in crime scene investigation, but she’d never seen a homicide look like this. Poor man.   
  
The ginger woman gave her a moment to calm down, handing over a tissue and a halfhearted encouragement.   
  
“This is Abigail Hobbs,” she laid out a few photos of the bright-eyed girl. She was grinning at the camera, standing beside her dad. “Her father was the Minnesota Shrike. Killed multiple girls with a similar appearance to his daughter, and then… made use of them,” she spared the details, conscious of Molly’s already sensitive state. “Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter found him in his home, where he slit her throat and then Will shot him.”   
  
Molly tried to take all of that in, grabbing onto the table for some sort of imaginary support. “And… did either of them survive?”   
  
“Abigail did,” Freddie pulled out a few more photos. “And Will practically adopted her. Spent weeks fawning over her as if she was his own flesh and blood. God knows I’ve never seen someone be a better and more fucked up father than him. Though I guess having strange father figures was nothing new for Abigail anyway,” she rambled, noticing that Molly was beginning to shake. It looked like realisation, though Lounds was unsure.   
  
The scarf. Molly inspected the image over and over again, mind transporting her to their bedroom. She recalled cleaning their room one day, pulling out the strange scarf that was stuffed into the bottom of Will's nightstand. It was old and worn, forming holes in the center and fraying at the edges. It clearly wasn’t his, but Molly was going to make use of it somehow. Upon Will’s visit home, she presented it to him with a big smile, holes all sewn up and scarf adorned on her neck.   
  
The look on his face was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was pure, unfiltered, anger, and his whole body shook with rage as he took two steps forward, quickly snatching it off of her neck. He almost shattered on the spot, trembling at the thought of the memory of Abigail being erased, of the holes in his life being closed up. Will spent that evening with the smallest knife he could find, magnifying glass in hand as he sat in the armchair, picking out every single stitch and struggling to see through the tears in his eyes.   
  
Freddie reached across the table, taking Molly’s hand comfortingly and sighing. “I’m so sorry,” was all she could manage, though she quietly revelled in the joy of the truth. The world deserved to know who Will Graham really was.   
  
“Hannibal killed her and gutted Will. Left them lying on his kitchen floor,” she continued, running a nonchalant hand through her hair as if the statement was about the weather, not homicide. “He ran away to Italy, and Will followed.”   
  
Molly’s heart sank further into the ground. The scratch-off map she’d bought for them, happily hanging it over the wall and bringing a coin to every place she wanted to visit, listing them off to him.   
_  
_ _ “I’m not much for travel, Molls,” Will hummed under his breath, glasses nestled on the bridge of his nose as he buried his head in a book. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “What about Italy?” she brought the coin closer. “We could visit Rome, Venice, oooh, Florenc-” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “No,” he retorted quickly, eyes finally raised to meet hers. “Definitely not Italy.” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “What’s the sudden hatred for Italy? Had a bad Olive Garden experience?” she grinned lopsidedly, trying to study Will’s expression unsuccessfully. Her face fell when she realised he wasn’t joking. Of course, he never elaborated. _ _  
_   
“Then…?” Molly was afraid to ask, not knowing what else Lounds could say that could possibly make this scenario worse. She was acutely aware and extremely grateful for the squeeze of her hand that Freddie offered, eyes glazed over by distress and her body going into overdrive.   
  
“Hannibal turned himself in. Wanted Will to know exactly where he was, no matter what happened.” Lounds contemplated the statement, realising what it meant now. She hadn’t managed to gather any evidence of the visitations, but the prospect of being able to snag a photo made her stomach burn with a passion unlike any other. A prison love story between a cannibal and a sweaty FBI agent, what more could the public want out of her?   
  
“He-” Molly pulled away, leaning back against the seat and shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re lying. He wouldn’t do that.”   
  
“Ask Jack Crawford.”   
  
Molly sighed. For once in her life, she just wanted to be able to ask her husband.    
  
“Do you ladies want anything to eat?” An awfully cheery waiter announced his presence, clearly unable to read the room.   
  
“Yes, it’s on me,” Freddie quickly responded, looking at Molly expectantly. Something about Molly pained her beyond belief. Seeing her absorb this information all at once rather than being a spectator like she had, like Alana, like Zeller, like everyone else. Lounds could only imagine what the poor woman was feeling.   
  
Molly didn’t say no. It was a nice change to be taken care of. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi team!
> 
> Quick turnaround, huh? I hope you like this one as well! Don't worry - Marlana will be getting awfully involved in this sticky situation very very soon : )
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for all of your lovely comments. It means the world to me. 
> 
> \- Newt xxx


	7. Disintegrate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Will needed to talk. Now. Freddie had decided to share the information she had on Will not only with Molly, but with the world. Hannibal provided a coping mechanism of his own. Alana needed to right her wrongs

Will stood at the counter of a completely unfamiliar shop; adorned with dozens of bottles, people walking around in formalwear, the amalgamation of smells invading his nose. Cluelessly, he picked through multiple aftershaves, hands grazing over each box carefully. The designs were intricate, each glass bottle beckoning him as he smelled one after the other, trying to experience things from Hannibal’s perspective. Too floral. Too musky. Too much citrus.

He picked up the fourteenth aftershave of the day, reluctantly breathing it in and feeling his lips spread into a small smile. It was perfect. Will tested some against his skin, slowly sniffing it and closing his eyes. He could almost see the pride in Hannibal’s eyes and the premise in itself was intoxicating. The man flipped the box to see the price tag, heart rate rising as his teeth met his bottom lip and he shifted uncomfortably. That was more than he’d ever spent on himself.

Was he really going to do this?

The interaction with the shop owner was seamless, he returned her smile and handed over his card, hands awkwardly in his pockets. He felt like a teenager buying alcohol for the first time, sweaty and nervous and invigorated by the concept of it being forbidden. Will wondered what Hannibal would say when he smelled it. He wondered if Molly would notice.

She wasn’t stupid. Molly was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed as she held the pictures in her hands. Freddie let her keep most of them, though she recommended the more gruesome ones were left behind. Gone were the elaborate murder scenes and gory installations, and left were a few images of a smiley girl with bright blue eyes. Her gentle fingers ran over Abigail’s features, trying to imagine Will, years ago, spending his time with her. With Hannibal Lecter. Did Will ever think of him when he was with her?

Will stepped inside and met eyes with Molly. Before he could say anything, she cut him off. “Sit down,” her voice was sterner than it had ever been, eyes piercing through his skull.

His eyes darted around the room, looking for an exit unsuccessfully. Will made his way to the couch, freezing when he saw the picture of Abigail. “Where did you get that?” he said, sounding much more panicked than he had intended. Every photo he had of her was stashed away in his bag, waiting to be looked at in the brief pauses between life. None of the photos Molly held in her hand were his. 

She studied the anxiety in his eyes, unsure whether she wanted to comfort him or not. He was a loving, caring, gentle, man but everything that he’d lied about made her wonder whether she recognised him at all. The sleepless nights and anxieties were always going to be an unconventional bump, and she did her best to comfort him every step of the way. But this is where even Molly figured she was reaching her limit. There was a sick feeling to her stomach, swirling around and threatening to empty the contents of her lunch onto the table. “When were you going to tell me?” She responded with a question, not giving in to Will’s accusatory tone.

“I-” he paused, tempted to tell her he didn’t need to tell her anything. It sounded ridiculous now, not sharing the details of your past with your spouse.

“It was a traumatic experience…” he began, trying to slide back into the role of the victim. His eyes widened and his lip trembled artificially.

“Don’t start that again. I believed in you, Will. I wanted to give you time and space to cope, to open up to me. And you lied,” she shook her head, not daring to look in his eye.

“I- we- he’s-” he sighed, taking a moment to compose himself. “It wasn’t like that, Molly.”

“What was it like?”

Will exhaled. He couldn’t even begin to start explaining. The gentle touches, the intricate dialogues, Randall Tier, Italy, Abigail… yet again, it was all beginning to blur on a crimson background. The dogs writhed uncomfortably in the corner, and Will wished he could join them in their simplicity, instead brought back to the conversation by Molly’s expectant glare. 

“We took care of Abigail together,” he started, remembering the peaceful expression on Hannibal’s face as they sat beside the hospital bed; full of absolute serenity. He recalled the little conversations, the envisioning of a life together. “She was like our daughter. That would bring anyone closer,” Will looked up at her.

“And he killed her. Were you going to tell me about that?” She deadpanned, eyes now filled with tears.

Will’s skin tingled with frustration. He couldn’t believe to what lengths Molly had gone to in order to find this out. In a way, he had become accustomed to her uninquisitive nature. She was there, and she was gentle, and she was kind. And sometimes, that's all he wanted her to be.

“We killed her,” he responded, nails digging into his palms until they left marks. “I betrayed him. This was his idea of payback.”

Molly shook her head, standing up and silently going to pour herself a glass of water. Her mind was racing with doubts, anger, frustrations. Will was justifying murder in this moment. An FBI agent. A detective. A teacher. What kind of monster had she married?

“You sound insane right now,” she sat down, exasperated. “You lied to me about having a child, then you lied to me about being in prison, then, let me get this straight, Freddie Lounds tells me you have the hots for Hannibal Lecter? What happens next, we become a throuple?” She was seething with anger, eyes wide open and teeth bared. He’d never seen her like this. He wished he’d never have to.

“Freddie Lounds is a sleazy bitch whose hobbies include libel and obstruction of justice,” he spat out between gritted teeth. Eyes glazed over, he imagined what it would be like to drive a knife through the center of Lounds’ skull. To let her long, ginger hair begin to dampen and soak up the blood. To watch the light die out from her ever-searching eyes. Only for a brief moment.

“Obstruction of justice sounds like a doozy considering you may be a murderer!” she wasn’t even that loud but the house shook with the force of her words. “I’m calling Jack Crawford tonight. Until then, I don’t want you here. Get the fuck out of my house.” 

Will couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His hands moved up involuntarily, suddenly noticing an immense amount of fear in Molly’s eyes. She was shaking like an autumn leaf, back pressed against her seat desperately. He wanted to make up a justification, to begin to explain, but he couldn’t think of a single sentence in which he didn’t blindly defend Lecter. Instead, he grabbed his bag and coat and slammed the door behind him.

Molly burst into tears. They ran down her cheeks, her neck, soaked her shirt, and dripped onto the floor. She was tired of being strong. Of being understanding. Of going out of her way to make the men in her life happy. For once, she settled down feeling like there was an equal amount of give and take. For once, Walter was happy, doing well at school, and calling someone dad.

And then it all had to fall apart again.

She tried to think back to Freddie’s gentle touches. The way her manicured hands ran up and down Molly’s arm and whispered quiet reassurances. Freddie owed her absolutely nothing and yet she was putting more effort into taking care of her than her own husband. The thought only made her cry harder. Was she not deserving of a man who wasn’t a fucking asshole?

\---

Margot stepped back after stumbling into a familiar shape, seeing Freddie staring back at her with wide eyes. “Oh, Margot,” she perked up curiously. They hadn’t really talked much, but obviously Lounds knew everything about everyone. The woman looked at her with what could only be described as disdain, looking her up and down. “Hi,” was all she said, trying to make her way down the road before her arm was grabbed.

“Do you have any information on Will Graham? He’s been spending an awful lot of time with Dr. Lecter, don’t you think?”

This was enough to draw Margot into conversation. She huffed, checking her watch and stopping. Freddie Lounds wasn't exactly her idea of a fun conversationalist, but the intrigue was too persuasive to miss out. She wondered why her mind clung onto Will's past in moments like this. If she was stronger she would've left right at that moment. 

Her stomach ached with the idea that Will was still willingly seeing this man. They made eye contact, had conversations… maybe he hadn’t moved past everything. He was still playing the same old games and being the same broken person. What if she hadn't found redemption either?

They stopped for a coffee. There was a mutual understanding and need to exchange information. Margot thought of Alana immediately, trying to make a mental note of everything that left Freddie’s mouth so she could pass it on.

“She said he smells different. Can you believe that? Respectable professor Will Graham, smitten for a cannibal.”

“Maybe he just bought a new cologne! You don’t know that it’s for Hannibal,” Margot argued, though even she sounded uncertain of her own defense. 

“I don’t think it’s like that,” even Freddie sounded upset, though only for a moment. She’d never deemed herself a romance novelist, but this was going to blow a new light into TattleCrime.

Margot put her face in her hands. “Alright, this is insane. I need to tell Alana. Why haven’t you told Jack?”

“What’s Jack going to do about it? When was the last time you could trust a man?”

They both shared a knowing look.

\---

The first thing Lecter noticed was the scent. Unusually deep, musky, masculine. He breathed in loudly and without shame, locking his eyes with Will immediately. The smirk on Hannibal’s face made something stir in Will’s jeans, and he tried his best to ignore it as he stepped towards him.

“Got everything prepared for today?” Hannibal hummed. His hair was unusually combed, a smile on his face making the wrinkles around his eyes protrude.

Will felt dirty. As if there was a layer of filth on his skin, coating him with a reminder of his love, his obsession, his affection, his infidelity, his monstrousness, his fear. “Yeah,” he murmured, sitting down in the seat and crossing his legs. The days of conversations were starting to wear on them, so Hannibal proposed an “activity”. Of course the contents of Will’s bag were checked; all they contained was a pencil and a sketchbook.

“What’s on your mind, Will?”

Hannibal immediately noticed the shift in his demeanour. He was clearly upset, shoulders slouching inwards and head bent. Something about his expression exuded sombreness. He wanted nothing more than to break through the screen and cradle his face in his hands. 

“Molly knows,” Will sighed, looking away. He could practically feel the smile forming on Hannibal’s face. 

“Was it the cologne?” Lecter emitted something that sounded like a purr. Will’s eyes darted up, trying to read his expression.

He felt exposed, but in a way that was embarrassingly arousing. Hannibal was peeling off his coat, clothes, skin, muscle, bone, one by one; his probing gaze never left Will even for a moment. Hannibal knew he did this for him. Will flounced inside the room, smelling nice _on purpose_. What had he become?

Hannibal decided to lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Will couldn’t keep his eyes off of the arch of his back, swallowing up every inch of exposed skin he saw. Even a peek of his collarbone made Will uneasy, making sure to cross his legs as he sat.

“Do you like it?” he asked, awfully hopeful for someone who wanted to remain undecided on his relationship status. To be fair, Molly had probably decided for him today.

Lecter couldn’t help but smirk at his desire to gain his approval. “It’s nice, Will. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

He shifted again, clearing his throat. That was exactly what he wanted. “How should we do this?” 

“Close your eyes for a moment or two. Think about me. Then start drawing.”

Will looked up, biting his lip when he saw the twinkle in Hannibal’s eye. “As long as you talk me through it.” He couldn’t believe where he was right now. Weeks after his marriage, sitting in a room and feeling red in the face over doing a sketching activity.

Was this a date?

“Think about how you felt when you were speaking to Molly today. Register that feeling. Let it envelop you, Will,” Hannibal said, eyes fixated on the ceiling. He needed to sit far away from the man lest he see how flustered Lecter felt about the aftershave ordeal. He could practically bathe in it, let it bleed into his lungs until he could feel nothing else. There was a faint taste of the ocean on his lips, he imagined the two of them at sea together. Will’s unruly locks frizzy with the seawater, damp feet caked with sand and back arching in the sunlight. Maybe one day.

Will let the feeling override the chaos of his thoughts, eyes sealed shut as he began to scribble on the piece of paper. His movements were jagged, rigid, stressed.

His mind finally wandered, and he found himself standing in the middle of a field. The movements of his hand calmed down as he began to draw with a little bit more purpose, fingers sketching out trees and land.

_Out of the corner of his eye, he felt the familiar shifts of a stag. A large, beautiful creature, quiet and serene._

_Will made eye contact with it, extending his arm forward almost beyond his control. His small steps left imprints on the grass, eyes transfixed on the magnificent beast. It let out a soft noise, beckoning Will closer as he put his hand to its snout, letting himself caress it. The fur was soft, tender, nestling between his fingers and tickling his palms. He relaxed in this moment of peace, staying close to it._

_Before he got too comfortable, a shot erupted in the distance. A small bullet, as if travelling in slow motion, gored the front of the animal’s head. Its voice exploded in whimpers, falling to the ground. Will landed on his knees before it, heart racing as it metamorphosed into Hannibal. There was blood gushing from his mouth, teeth broken in and desperate eyes looking for Will in the distance. Will cupped the man’s face, pressing his forehead against his and breathing heavily. “No, no, no. Hannibal, listen to me. I’m here, listen,” he begged, squeezing his cheeks._

Hannibal noticed Will’s breaths get more frantic, standing up in concern and quietly walking over to him. “Will, Will, I’m here. It’s alright. Focus on the drawing, Will. Focus,” he tried to collect himself, finding this sight absolutely unbearable.

_Will looked out to see the source of the shoot, locking eyes with Molly, gun in her hand._

_He watched Hannibal’s body go still on the ground, body limp and soaked in blood. A scream left his mouth but he didn’t register it. Feral, he leaped forward, grabbing her before he could control himself. She turned into smoke in his hands._

He left the trance-like state, panic-stricken eyes focusing on Hannibal, slow and graceful as always. The paper almost disintegrated in his hands, and his heart stopped when he saw the drawing.

  
_Will's drawing. Done by the wonderful @nelythseed on Tumblr._  
  
A large, angry scribble of a stag sat before him. Its fur was rough and sticking out in all the wrong places, a large dripping arm between its teeth. Its eyes were frazzled and eager, staring at Will from the page and threatening to crack into his rib cage. He shuddered at the sight, feeling Hannibal’s eyes on him as he looked up and saw it. The inebriating, gorgeous, expression. Pride. The same way he looked at Will when he was described as the smartest person in the room on trial, the same gaze that treated him after he spat Cordell’s cheek like a hunk of worthless chum. His skin tingled.  
  
“What did you see?” he sank when he heard the concern in Hannibal’s voice, unaware of what had happened.

Will shook his head, trying to make sense of his thoughts. “She slipped right through my fingers,” he whispered, something caught in his throat. “She’s gone. She’s ash. She’s dust,” he stood up, mind racing with the conversation that happened earlier, heart keeping his feet planted on the ground.

“Disperse her,” Hannibal said. He intended it to sound like a command but it was a plea. “Scatter her remains, Will. Honour her and move forward.”

Will had to lean on the wall for stability as he stood. “What are you doing to me?” he asked, though it was more of a rhetorical question than anything. Not even God had the answer. 

_He rattled the door of his mind palace in a panic, hearing the dogs squealing on the other side. Using as much force as he could, Will broke through the barrier and was met with an empty home. His quaint family house in Virginia was nothing but bare bones, warm throw rugs and familiar books having vanished into thin air. It had been sterilised of all its beauty. Will rushed out of the room, dashing from one to another and screaming for Molly. He couldn’t ask for forgiveness, nor beg for love, he simply needed to get away. She was nowhere to be seen._

“The question is what you’re doing to yourself. Did I ask you to purchase that cologne?” He raised his voice slightly. There was a deep offence in his tone, hands behind his back as he walked forward. “You’ve been playing victim of circumstance for far too long, don’t you think? You deserve to have some agency in your story.”

_Will shut the door to his palace. He didn't need it anymore, he was about to build an entire kingdom._

He looked down at the ground, and back up at Lecter. His whole body was warm and uncomfortable, as if someone had sewn a second skin onto him. Hannibal was a blazing fire in front of him, and he was willing to reach in and let Lecter scorch his hands until they’d be nothing but charred bone. Perhaps Will was the one who deserved to disintegrate.

“I can gain agency by being yours, Doctor Lecter,” he finally spoke up. “What do you need me to do?”

\---

Alana shook her head, sitting up to make sure she had heard Margot correctly. “He _what_?”

“He’s gone insane, Alana. Think about it. Have you heard anything from Molly in the last two weeks? Anything?” Margot had a panicked look in her eye, walking over to Bloom to take her hand for comfort.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she sighed. An impulsive moment of vengeance had snowballed into a TattleCrime article, glowing red lettering and flashy headlines covering a blurry picture of Will Graham leaving the BSHCI.

“STAR-CROSSED LOVERS REUNITE. RETIRED AGENT WILL GRAHAM GAINS VISITATION RIGHTS TO HANNIBAL LECTER’S CELL.”

Alana buried her head in her hands, trying to regulate her breathing. It was all her fault. Now, her future, her wife, her kid, were all in jeopardy, all because she needed to have her little power trip. It was impossible to stop the tears that began to stream down her face, immediately wiped away by Margot’s gentle fingers. She pulled her into an embrace, lips on Alana’s forehead as she cooed quietly. “Shh, shh, it’s going to be okay. You made a mistake. You can still stop it. You wanted what was best for him…”

She wiped the tears out of her eyes, trying to ignore that they were quickly being replaced by new ones. The soothing intonation of Margot’s voice slowed down her heart rate bit by bit until she was simply leaning against her, head pounding from the crying. What would she do without her?

There was a ringing in her ears that sounded like Will’s voice. She needed to save him. For the hundredth time, she had to be the person that got him out of trouble. Except this time, it was trouble that she subjected him to in the first place.

“I need to take away his visitation rights,” she sat up, clearing her throat. He was never going to forgive her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Sorry it took so long - the dialogue in this one is killing me! Hope everyone likes it.
> 
> Thank you so so much for all of your lovely comments <3
> 
> \- Newt xxx


	8. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will prepared to meet their reckoning and said their goodbyes. Walter and Molly discussed happenings. Freddie attempted to cheer Molly up.

Will hadn’t seen Molly in three days. 

He was situated in a gray motel room with no window, surrounded by various food packaging and a few too many wine bottles. The bleakness of the whole scenario would've been poignantly pathetic had he not had other things on his mind at that moment. His heart longed for a life that was no longer his, a life that wasn't achievable. Hannibal wouldn’t be available until today, and waiting 72 hours was torturous. Will had spent the last 12 hours on and off in nightmares. Every time he closed his eyes, he'd meet gaze with a desperate stag, arm in his hand, and grief in his eyes. 

Photos of Abigail found themselves propped up on the dingy nightstand, illuminating the otherwise dull space. Her smile was immortalized, ever-present, and painfully joyful. Will made brief eye contact with the picture, sighing quietly. It somehow hurt more to see her so happy. 

Lazily, he began to slip into his clothes. Worn button-down and jeans aside, he looked like shit in general; big eyes sunk in deep from lack of sleep, messy hair, an unwelcome five o’clock shadow. He knew Hannibal wouldn’t care.

Will recalled his conversation with Lecter.  _ What do you need me to do? _ He had asked. Hannibal, of course, being himself, didn’t give a straight answer. Not only that, but what left his lips was painful.

“I need you to forget me, Will,” he finally spoke up, and the world froze over. Will felt his limbs go numb, collapsing in his chair with the inability to hold himself up anymore. He paused, trying to process what Hannibal had just said but refusing to properly acknowledge it. Will took those words into his mouth and swallowed them up, wanting to make them disappear into nothingness. Hannibal was letting him go. After everything that had happened, Hannibal was playing yet another game.

“Hannibal,” his voice was soft and pleading as he looked up at the man through his eyelashes. “Hannibal, don’t say that. What are you talking about?” He couldn't believe his tone, but at this point, he had nothing to lose. 

“As much disdain as I have for the way you live your life, we won’t be allowed to see each other for much longer, don’t you think? You mentioned that Molly wanted to speak to Jack.”

Will swallowed the lump in his throat. Door after door of his mind palace began to seal itself shut, placing the metaphorical key into Lecter’s hands. Everything was slipping away from him. He was standing on a remote island, slowly being flooded by the rising sea level with no escape route. “Hannibal, don’t say that,” was all he could muster. Will knew he was right, he almost always was, but the truth tasted like blood in his mouth.

“Life will eventually become maddeningly polite, if it hasn’t already. Don’t worry about me, Will. Don’t think about me,” he walked to the screen, trying to coax Will to stand with a loving gaze. Hannibal was on an adjacent island, drowning in his own regard but using all of his energy to throw the remainder of his landmass over to Will. If they were cursed to disappear, Will deserved to stick around for a little longer. He hitched a breath when they met eyes, unable to look away despite Graham’s obvious distress.

“Hannibal,” he uttered the blessed words again. Every time that sound left his lips, Lecter let it replace his internal monologue. His thoughts were silenced in their entirety, and all he could hear was Will pleading for him.  
  
If only Will could’ve done that a few years ago.

“I really would have liked to show you Florence, Will,” he reminded himself of their previous conversation. “Among other things. It’s the least I could do to repay you for everything you have shown me.”

He considered the beautiful museums and the landscapes. They could be sitting in a cafe late on a Sunday morning, eating breakfast and exchanging pleasantries. Even if Abigail wasn't there, they would honour her and remember her in every interaction. Will would turn to him, hair way too long and beard unkempt, and weave another metaphor in an attempt to stop talking about his feelings. Hannibal would smile and vow to himself to give Will the entire world if he could. 

Will stood, finally levelling himself with Hannibal and shaking his head. “I wanted to show you myself,” he began, anxious hand running through his hair. “I wanted to be known. To be subjected to the consequences of being completely and utterly understood." A lengthy pause hung in the air. "I guess I’ve discovered now that the eventual consequence is heartbreak.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly, but enough for Will to notice. “Heartbreak?”

The sigh that left Will’s mouth was almost incredulous, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “I’m in love with you, Hannibal.” 

Silence.

Deep, thick, silence. Like tar in unfortunate lungs. It crawled into the room and encased it in its thick, viscous self. Will felt it bleeding into his skin and pouring itself down his throat. Hannibal didn’t even attempt to swim up or fight back, surrendering to Silence in a way Will had never seen him surrender to anything. Neither had the mental space to even begin analysing the others’ movements, instead focusing on trying to stay afloat for as long as possible. They were barely breathing.

Will looked around, questioning his own sanity as he pressed his forehead against the screen, heart thumping in his ears when Hannibal did the same. They were separated by a mere few inches. Will wondered what sort of force it would take to break through the material. Before he let himself get carried away, the man focused on Hannibal’s eyes. Amber with flecks of honey, they travelled up and down Will’s features as if going on a beautiful hike. Every crevice, every pore, everything was delicately traced over. Will knew what he was doing. Hannibal was memorising his face for the last time.

“If you could go back in time, Will, what would you have done differently?”

Will was immediately overwhelmed with the number of answers he had to that question. One stood out to him. “I would’ve left with you. As we should have.”

Hannibal smiled slightly, inquisitive eyes still roaming Will’s face. He was pleased with the answer, but his stomach burned in anguish at what could have been in a different life. “Give yourself time right now to ponder it. Then let it all go. Let me become a fever dream, Will. Let me go.”

Will shook his head again, threatening to explode, or scream, or worse. Everything was about to crumble under him and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He was yet again a victim of circumstance. “Our time is up, Hannibal,” he checked his watch, knowing he had already been told off before for staying too long. His face was puffy and overrun with tears, and through the offensive wetness, he saw that Hannibal was crying too. Not the soft, sophisticated single tear, but a true sob escaped his lips. A voracious animal within him finally found its voice and showed its hunger, letting sniffles and sobs out of his broken body. That animal was his heart. Will looked away. He had to, or he would have broken.  
  
Lecter stepped away from the screen for a second, quick hands dipping into his drawers and pulling out a sketch. The paper had practically gone completely gray from the amount of corrections, graphite digging into it over and over again. Will, Hannibal, and Abigail were laughing, fishing in peace. He clutched the sheet of paper in his hands and took a few methodical steps before sliding it through to Will. "The teacup won't be coming back together. But at least we can recall how ornate it was when it was still whole."  
  
He choked as he looked over the drawing, shaking his head over and over again. "No," was all he could whisper, wiping his eyes when someone came to notify him he had to leave. The sketch was pocketed immediately. 

That day, he left the building quietly. Without a single fight in him. The next five hours were a blur of tears and mutterings, and the next time he came to consciousness was at Abigail’s tombstone. It was large, and stood out against all of the other, much bleaker displays. Will must have been driving for hours to get there. Tender fingers grazed over the lettering, clearly chosen by Hannibal. He sat beside it, leaning against the cold marble and exhaling. “He tried to make a place for us. There was no space in the world for all three of us,” he said, though what left his mouth were barely words, just feverish sobs with thoughts behind them. He couldn’t fathom being anywhere else. The hard surface of the stone provided him more warmth than anyone could at that moment. Will took the drawing out of his pocket, pressing a kiss to it and placing it on top of her grave. It deserved to stay there, to fall apart as everything already had. If nothing else, at least it was poetic. 

There had to be something he could do. If not stop his suffering, he could at least ensure he wasn’t suffering alone. 

\---

Sure enough, that same day, Will received a call from Alana. At this point, he had cleaned up and was sitting in the bathtub of his motel, staring at the ceiling as he picked up the phone. He'd spent the last 30 minutes softly caressing the scar on his stomach, wondering how Hannibal intended for him to forget it. 

“Hi, Will, can we talk?”

He gritted his teeth, despising her nonchalant tone. She had just ripped everything away from him and it was as if this was just another little conversation. “What is it?”

“Bedelia and I had a conversation, and… well, we think it would be best if you stopped seeing Hannibal. By that I mean you will no longer be able to see him," on the other side of the phone, Alana was leaning against her kitchen counter, phone clutched tightly in her hand until her knuckles were white. 

“Okay, Alana. Thanks for letting me know,” he spread his lips out into a faux smile. Hannibal would’ve been proud of this iteration of his person suit. “Thank you for being so caring,” he almost spat, instead resorting to a cool, collected tone. He wondered what she was thinking.

Alana didn’t even know how to respond. Will’s relaxing demeanour was unnerving. Had he expected this? What were they planning? She felt a pain return to her chest, squeezing her vocal cords almost beyond recognition. “I’m glad to hear you seem to be okay with it,” she lied. There were a dozen reactions she could’ve predicted from Will, some more legal than others, but this was absolutely unorthodox. He gave her nothing.

“Goodbye, Alana,” he clicked off the phone. 

_A time for reckoning comes in all our lives_ , Will thought to himself. 

\---

“Is everything alright with Dad?” Wally asked, for the third breakfast in a row. The empty seat opposite him wasn’t doing any favors; nor were the whining dogs who spent a lot of their time patiently sat by the door, awaiting Will’s return. Winston was caught lying by the river the other way, eyes searching for the shape of his owner. No luck.

She sighed. There wasn’t anything she could do about this, it was time to start offering an explanation. “Dad and I had a disagreement.”

Wally thought about that for a moment, shoveling a slice of pancake into his mouth. “Can’t you resolve it? Maybe I can help.”

Molly thought back to the beautiful, smiling girl that had spent her time in Will’s life, and where she was now. Or, more accurately, where she wasn’t. She placed a hand over Wally’s and he sat up uncomfortably when noticing the shift in her tone. 

Realization coursed through his blood. 

“He’s not coming back, is he?” Wally mumbled, defeated. He was so stranger to absent parental figures, to missed childhood, to lack of guidance, but this time he had really hitched his bets on Will. The man spent hours taking him fishing, watching TV with him, helping with homework. Wally remembered what they were up to just last week, sitting on the floor of the living room and arranging a 1000 piece puzzle. Molly gave up after 30 minutes, but the two of them sat there until half of it was finished. They barely even took a break, instead just snacking on cheese puffs and arguing over which part to complete next. By evening, they were nearly done, seeing the landscape begin to take shape.

_ That puzzle was never going to be finished _ , Wally thought.

“Dad and I are taking a break,” she cleared her throat. “He’s facing some problems in his work life and it’s making him very stressed.”

Wally looked down. “Is that why people in school are talking?”

“What?”

“I’m eleven now, mom. I’m not stupid,” he averted his gaze uncomfortably. “Kacey’s mom saw an article online about dad, with some guy. Hannibal the cannibal. They said he eats people,” Wally put his fork down. “What happened to him?”

Molly couldn’t even begin to formulate a response, eyes darting over Wally’s concerned features. He had never looked so old. His eyes were purely analytical and uncomfortably perceptive, pulling out as much information from Molly as possible. 

“Will worked in law enforcement,” she started, voice hushed. “Hannibal Lecter was a very intelligent man who became his psychiatrist. It turned out that he was actually a murderer.”

Wally coughed, sitting up. "He was his psychiatrist? Holy shit," he covered his mouth. Molly didn't even think to correct his language, that was the exact same reaction she had. She couldn't blame him at all. 

They continued to eat, both aware of the pressing awkwardness. Wally finally thought of something to say.

“Then what’s the murder husband thing? What are they talking about?”

Molly furrowed her eyebrows, unable to stop a noise coming from her throat. “Some people are spreading rumors that Will and Dr. Lecter were romantically involved," she managed to say. Transparency was her motto after all, and Wally was old enough to hear all of it if his classmates were old enough to taunt him about it. They were going to ger through this together; Walter, Molly, and the dogs.

Wally laughed a little, sitting back in his seat. “You’re joking, right? Dad’s not gay.” He wanted to believe it when he said it.

She squeezed his hand softly, watery eyes on her face. “I know it’s a lot of information to take in, Honeybee. Would you like to stay home from school today? We can make hot cocoa, watch a few movies, practice for your show…” there was hope in her voice. Perhaps some of this was so salvageable. 

“Sorry, mom. I’m… not feeling it,” Wally stood up from the table, picking up the puzzle from the shelf and dropping it into the garbage. There was not a single note of emotion in his voice. It was akin to woundedness but more closely resembled defeat. A complete loss of hope.

He put his backpack on and adjusted his shoes, hand on the doorknob. Molly stood up to lead him outside, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to pick you up from school, alright, sweetie? We’ll go buy that new bike we talked about.”

Molly sighed. If only a bicycle could solve all of her problems. God knows what it would take to fix her at this point.

\---

“Freddie,” she said, studying the woman in front of her. She was dressed impeccably as always, a red blazer fitted to her waist with a matching hat adorning her head. After she’d sent the article, they hadn’t spoken properly. Quite frankly, Molly had no idea how to feel. “What’re you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you,” she brought up a bouquet of yellow flowers with green foliage. “I guess this is an apology bouquet. Or maybe a congratulation one. I think we’ll decide as the conversation goes along.” She invited herself in, looking around the quaint house.

“That article, Freddie…” frustration pooled in her heart as she thought about her conversation with Wally just a few minutes ago.

“Will Graham is losing his visitation rights. I talked to Margot about it, and Alana’s talked it over with Crawford. They won’t be allowed to meet.”

Molly’s stance relaxed considerably, heart pounding with emotion. Freddie had no reason to do that for her. If anything, Will continuing to visit Hannibal would’ve brought her more readers and more of a story. Lounds did this just for her.

“Freddie, I-” she couldn’t think of what to say, instead just taking the bouquet off of her and pulling her into a warm hug. She breathed in the alluring smell of citrus, bouncy curls tickling her ear as she leaned in for a proper hug. Molly couldn't remember the last time someone had been so affectionate with her, not counting her wedding day.

She pulled away, lips spreading into a wide grin before it disappeared into thin air. “What am I going to do now?”

Lounds let out an involuntary laugh. “What do you mean? Are you seriously still considering letting him back in?” she pulled her to the couch. “Molly, I understand that I have a bias, but please listen to me. This is not who you want around your child. You are deserving of someone who…” she looked away for a moment, taking Molly’s hands into hers. “Of someone who actually gives a shit about you. Not a psychopath and his cannibalistic boyfriend.”

Molly laughed sadly, not even realizing she was crying again. She leaned against Freddie, trying to regulate her breathing. “Wally is devastated. I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she sniffled, eyes meeting Freddie’s.

Something clicked in her head. The flowers, the lunches, the wanting to help. Freddie’s gaze was a lot softer than what she was used to seeing on her face: a perpetual assertiveness that got her through almost anything in life. And yet, now, she was loving and kind. All of her attention was focused on their hands, carefully manicured fingers softly stroking much rougher but no less pretty ones. Molly gave them a light squeeze, trying to smile despite everything. She always did.

“Did I tell you I told him to get the fuck out of my house?”

Freddie beamed and wiped her tears. She was so beautiful, even like this. Even when she pined for the completely wrong man. “I’m proud of you. It’s what you needed to say,” her hand ran through Molly’s hair gently, trying to stop her from obscuring her face. She was often plagued by insecurity. That’s what happens when you’re in a relationship with a man who’s using you as a symbol rather than a human being. “Do you know where he’s staying?”

“You know what? I’m going to feel really bad about saying this, but I frankly don’t care. I’m so tired, Freddie. I’m exhausted,” she sighed. “This is way too much information for me to process and he hasn’t even bothered to reach out.”

She nodded understandingly, biting her lip. “If you want to get your mind off of things… you and Wally should come by sometime. I live right by this arcade. Though I know you have your whole rural cavemen vibe going on, I imagine poor Walter would like to see a video game for once.”

“Shut up,” Molly chuckled. “Right, maybe sometime next week, yeah?”

They met eyes again, relaxing quietly.

Silence.

It was a warm embrace, like light rays flooding into a dim room. It traced over their skin and coddled them up in the world's tightest blanket. It was soft, gentle, tender, making Freddie’s arms tingle happily. Molly’s lips couldn’t help but slide into another smile. The quiet of the moment held them tightly, bright light emitting from their eyes and beckoning them into moving closer. Their foreheads moved to press against each others.

Molly couldn't find the right words, but made an attempt regardless. "Thank you for coming here today, seriously. I was planning on spending my whole day drinking Chardonnay and listening to ABBA," she half-joked, trailing off. For the first time since they'd met, Freddie truly had nothing to say. This moment was strange for her, uncharacteristically careful and shy in a manner that made her uncomfortable. 

"I know you're going through a lot right now, Molly. I just want you to know that I'm not trying to take advantage of you," Freddie pulled away carefully, hand slipping back into hers. 

"Oh God, of course not. Yeah, yeah, you're right," Molly sat up, flustered. Freddie's cheeks now matched the color of her hair, glowing a bright red. Molly felt stupid for even getting into a situation like this, and yet she was being devoured by her desire to be wanted. She didn't need admiration, or praise, or honor. All she needed was someone who found her as necessary as she found them.

Platonically or romantically, at this moment, Freddie made her feel wanted like nobody else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> I got so excited that I forgot to add a note. What do we think? Angsty enough? I'm broken, haha.
> 
> Love you all! Your comments make my day <3
> 
> \- Newt xxx


	9. Copper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal knew that any attempts at getting him out would be ruthless. Freddie was determined to act like a replacement for Will. Graham's mind was, yet again, elsewhere.

Hannibal was stuck in the world’s least forgiving time loop, and he would’ve still been considered one of the lucky ones by many in a similar position. He had an array of books, art materials, journals, magazines, quite possibly more entertainment than the average non-incarcerated individual had. It had been 3 months. 

He and Will hadn’t even discussed any plans. Hannibal knew it was fruitless. Whatever games Graham was playing would no longer prove to be as successful without Hannibal by his side. He didn’t have the resolve or the initiative to act out on his desires. At least that’s what Hannibal thought until he had made the confession that turned his perception of Will from a clear reflection to murky and unfamiliar outlines. He spent his days grasping at the fictional representation of his beloved, trying to pull him up from his blurry confines and see him for who he really was in this moment, but it felt insurmountable. Hannibal finally understood what it was like to lack clarity on someone. I'm in love with you, Hannibal echoed in his head like the world's most taunting melody. Some days he wondered if Will's visitations were simply the work of hallucinations. Most days it was easier to believe they were, that way he didn't have to think about what could've been if Will had said those words a little earlier.

“Hannibal,” Alana watched as he predictably ignored her, fingers covered in charcoal. He had taken something akin to a vow of silence at that point. Of course, not completely, that would be ruinous for his psyche, but he’d resorted to interacting less and less. It was unnerving, to say the least. Some days she’d bite, others she’d retreat; her mind was constantly shifting through dozens of ways to engage him in something, _anything_. Bloom knew she shouldn’t care as much as she did. Frankly, she wouldn’t have to visit him at all if she didn’t want to. But the guilt clawed at her heart occasionally when she watched Margot put Ezra to bed, blameworthy but unscathed by the law. Hannibal had made a sacrifice for her, even if he’d also ruined her life.

“What sorts of musings will you offer me today, Dr. Bloom?” he looked up, but only briefly.

“No musings required. The orderlies mentioned you’ve been terribly quiet so I’ve come to check in on you.”

Hannibal sighed and stood up, taking a step toward the glass. “Dr. Bloom, do you think God feels fear?”

She stopped herself from rolling her eyes, checking her watch quickly. “I don’t think extended metaphors are the best coping mechanism, Hannibal,” she smiled sadly. 

“I don’t think your brief attempts at conversation will absolve you from your guilt,” he cleared his throat, turning away. “I hope Margot and Ezra are well.”

Alana cleared her throat, looking away. “They are.”

“I don’t imagine you mention me a lot. Nor our time together. How’s Graham?” He sounded surprisingly casual. 

Bloom studied him yet again, eyebrows furrowed as usual. “Will has been doing okay. I think he’s managing to cope a lot better with everything now,” she hadn’t mentioned that he and Molly had split, but Hannibal probably already knew. It was strange, watching him through the cameras. He’d sit on the bed some nights, eyes completely closed, as if he was practicing being elsewhere for the evening. Day after day, without fail, Hannibal managed to retreat to a part of his brain that was inaccessible to anyone but him. Alana wondered what he saw there.

It was clear as day. Will Graham was on the kitchen floor. Sobbing, bleeding out, pleading. Hannibal never thought he’d be willingly reliving that moment, but everything from that night felt awfully familiar now. Except now, Hannibal had gutted him mentally, not that it hurt any less for either of them. Nowadays, Hannibal almost thought he deserved it.

Lecter didn't realise how lucky he had been to escape that night. 

Will lived through their conversations and got to go back home, whether to his family or himself it didn’t matter. Hannibal, on the other hand, couldn’t get his eyes off of the small print left on the glass. The tiniest reminder of Will’s presence, and now even this room felt like emptiness. 

Hannibal had never felt the dull ache of loneliness like this. His previous romantic and sexual whims were all pleasantries, but none of them had carved them open. They simply scuttled on the surface of his heart, sticking around for however long was convenient, and making their way elsewhere. Will’s grimy hands dug into his ribcage and pulled as he pleased, hands covered in blood and gaze feral. And Hannibal had let him. Except now, he was lying wide open on the operating table and only Will knew how to put him back together. Not that he could, even if he wanted to. 

“You know, Hannibal. I’ve wondered this for a very long time,” she began, noticing how he’d gotten lost in thought. “Why Will Graham? What truly drew you to him?”

Hannibal sighed, as if she’d just asked the silliest question in the world. She almost retracted her query before she realised he that was exactly what he wanted her to do. It was obvious what they had in common, at least to him.

“Have you ever been understood to the point of discomfort, Alana?”

She considered that for a moment. 

Alana had spent her whole life living for others, to a large extent. Even before this mess, her partners, friends, colleagues, often used her compassion and occasional lack of agency, and abused it. Thankfully she’d grown but it had taken a journey and a half. “I think so,” she thought back to the way Margot often knew exactly what she was thinking with no words exchanged. She didn’t know if it was quite discomfort, though. It was an incredible warmth to be seen in a way that nobody had seen her before.

“I suppose I have. Has Will Graham understood you?”

“Intimately,” was all Hannibal could respond with before he retreated, fork digging into his lunch. He wasn’t in a state to give any more information. Will would know what he was talking about. 

Alana cleared her throat in discomfort. It felt like an intrusion to press but she had seen the security footage. She couldn’t bring herself to listen to the audio, but the sight of the two of them, foreheads against the screen, made something ache inside of her. There was hell, and then there was what Lecter experienced when Will was visible but not tangible. 

“You know you’re not good for him, Hannibal. Your desire to be seen shouldn’t overstep his chance at a regular life,” she finally stated, looking him in the eyes for the first time in a long while. 

Hannibal wanted to laugh. Who was Alana but a woman permanently indebted to him? A woman who tried to be brave and failed miserably on multiple occasions. What gave her the right to put words into Will's mouth? To tell Hannibal exactly what Will wanted? He despised her infantilisation of him. Graham was an adult, and a powerful one at that. He was capable of a reckoning that would make the Devil himself cower if need be. 

"Your relationship with Margot is no healthier. You're nothing but a glorified surrogate," he looked back up at her threateningly. 

Alana took a step back and shook her head. "You have no right-" she didn't finish, unsure of how to respond to that. Hannibal had once again gotten into her head. "You have no right to call me that."

"You died in my kitchen when you chose to be brave, Alana. Every moment since is borrowed. Your wife... your child... they belong to me," he took a step closer, voice lowering.

"We made a bargain for Will's life, and then I spun you gold. Don't make me regret it."

She took another step back unconsciously, pausing for a moment. "Goodbye, Hannibal." No words could've made a statement as effective as pure isolation. She left those words rotting on the floor of his cell. 

Alana left with more questions than answers that day. 

\--

Molly wasn’t going to be able to make it until later in the evening. She was swamped at work and spent the rest of her time trying to make Wally’s transition out of life with Will as smooth as possible. Wally stood backstage, awkward hands fumbling with a pack of cards. Will approached him, a gentle hand placed on his shoulder. “You’re going to do a great job, bud,” he offered a small smile. “You’ve been rehearsing real hard, alright? D’you wanna do it one more time before you go on stage?”

Wally looked up at him, flashing a smile of his own and nodding. Shaky hands extended various cards, going through the same lines that they had practiced. After he’d finished, Will patted him on the back and pulled him into a hug. “You’re going to do great things, alright?”

“Dad?” The word made Will feel a little queasy still. Excited, overwhelmed, but definitely queasy. 

“Yeah? What is it?” he looked up at the stage, hearing as Wally’s name was about to be introduced. His eyes fixated back on his son’s face, trying to calm him with a gentle gaze.

“I love you. I think you and mom should move in together again,” he pulled him in for a quiet hug, eyes pressed shut. His arms were remarkably strong, squeezing the air out of Will as he hugged back.

"We will," he lied. "Everything is going to go back to normal soon, alright? We'll be together again." 

Will wasn't talking to Wally. 

\---

Between moving all of their belongings and the occasional dinner, not much had changed. Molly had convinced Walter that Will wasn’t coming back but he did a pretty good job of proving her wrong. He’d be there to pick Wally up from school, take him to the park, take a look at the dogs, et cetera. It wasn’t their normal family life, sure, but it was a transition that was a lot less jarring than complete loss of contact. 

Freddie, of course, was not a fan of this development. She sneered under her breath and whispered remarks whenever she could fit them. Of course, Will wasn’t stupid. He realised what was happening long before Molly mentioned it, and he was appalled that he and Lounds both somehow fell under Molly’s “type”. He couldn’t believe it when he came back home, wine bottle in hand, and found Freddie and Wally working on a puzzle together. He had to step away from the doorway for a few seconds and compose himself before coming back indoors, trying to make sure this wasn’t another psychologically twisted nightmare.

“Mr. Graham. How nice of you to join us,” Freddie offered her signature bitchy smile.

“Ms. Lounds,” he said through gritted teeth, setting the bottle of wine down and giving Molly an awkward kiss on the cheek. “I don’t believe there are any pressing matters for you to investigate,” he helped set the table, biting his lip for a moment. 

“No pressing matters needed. Simply enjoying a lovely dinner with a friend and her child, and you,” she separated them deliberately, stepping away from the puzzle and going to open the wine. Freddie made a point of displaying the fact that she knew where everything in the kitchen was, popping the bottle open with no problem. 

“How’s tabloid journalism treating you?”

“Well, quite frankly, your darling doctor’s incarceration has really impacted my clicks. Considered getting him out?” she joked and Molly shot her a stern look. 

“Thank you for your concern about my past with Dr. Lecter. That’s exactly what it is, a past. I don’t spend my time digging underneath your floorboards. I’d appreciate it if we could drop this topic of conversation during dinner.”

Molly gave him a small nod and they got seated to eat. There was an uncomfortable atmosphere in the room, one that Wally was determined to break. “Freddie and I finished that puzzle we were doing, Dad. It looks awesome, you should join us next time.”

Will’s heart stung at the ‘us’, if only a little bit. Hannibal had gotten into his head but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t missing the quiet peace of family life. Something about the routine had its own comfort, even if it was suffocating at the best of times. He wished there was a reality where he could take Wally. He and Lecter could clothe him, raise him, teach him languages, teach him to fish, hunt, lure, skin... 

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Abig-?” he stopped himself, gulping and looking up at Freddie. How was he making the same mistake twice? In the presence of the same people? They met eyes, and he felt compelled to shake his head, stopping himself just briefly. _Please don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything._

Freddie looked away, smiling politely. “I think Will’s a little out of it today, Wally. He’s probably just tired. How about you and I go finish hanging that puzzle in your room? I hear your mom’s room decor skills are subpar,” she teased, running a gentle hand down Molly’s arm as she stood up. Will knew it was intentional. 

God how he wished he wouldn’t be a suspect if something had happened to her. Sometimes he thought she would’ve deserved whatever Hannibal wanted to do to her. 

\---

_A howl echoed in the distance as Will found himself trotting through a dark neck of the woods. The leaves sang a melody under his steps and echoed behind him. He cried out, but his voice wasn't his own, instead coming out as a pained yell. He stopped in his tracks to not only inspect his surroundings, but himself. The familiar feel of his feet was gone and was replaced by_

_hooves._

_Another panicked noise left his throat as the trot turned into a gallop, though he had less agency than he would've liked to admit, large body prowling towards what he knew would be an open field. The grass was damp with a late-night shower and Will could feel it clinging to his fur, the smell of wet animal immediately coursing into his nostrils. He ran out into the field._

_There he lay._

_Hannibal, in the nude, completely exposed. His body was unmoving but still breathing, vibrant pink skin offset by the darkness of his surroundings. Something stirred inside Will's stomach but he ran up nonetheless, feeling his control slip and his perception of the dream alter as the stag overtook his body. Without warnings, its teeth ripped into Lecter's stomach, emitting a loud, guttural moan from the man. He practically arched up, and Will was transfixed until he realised what he had done - copper tingling on his lips as he swallowed a patch of skin. His to keep forever. He dug deeper shamelessly, devouring Hannibal's innards piece by piece and watching the man writhe. Not in pain or agony, but in pleasure. He was practically begging to be consumed, to be taken completely._

_The blood glistened on the stag's mouth as he watched Hannibal contort for the last time. "Will," he whined under his breath, body ceasing movement only seconds later. Will reached forward, tongue involuntarily running up Hannibal's chest and to his own mouth, jaw clamping over his face._

Will woke up in a hot, sticky, sweat, thighs shaking and an uncomfortable throbbing in a concerning area. He didn't even take a moment to process anything, sprinting into the shower and turning on the cold water over his clothed body. He panted, back pressed against the hard wall in an attempt to calm down. What the fuck was that?

After minutes of standing under pouring water, he stepped out and halfheartedly dried himself, changing into a pair of boxers and inspecting the redness in his cheeks. He'd never had a dream like that, that's for darn sure. Will could've sworn he could still taste the copper in his mouth.

In an attempt at distraction, he made his way to his desk, inspecting the variety of fishing lures, hooks, feathers, and various other knickknacks. The sight almost allowed him to forget, though he couldn't help but be beckoned by the sharpness of the swiss army knife. He picked it up a little too eagerly. 

The new apartment wasn’t proving to be all that bad, and he and Molly were slowly trying to rekindle their relationship. Wally was a fan of the new space, though they both quietly missed the dogs and retreated in the pauses between discussing school and life. The uneventfulness he strived so deeply for had come back with a vengeance, now taking on a much more somber tone than a content one. Physically, he was almost as alone as he was before he’d met Hannibal. Mentally? Lecter was with him every waking moment of every day.

Will twirled the knife in his hand, watching the blade glistening in the bright light of his apartment. The flood of sun rays created a little more comfort, at the very least. Will inspected his palm for a moment, eyes fixated on the various wrinkles, dents, cuts, and small scars. A split-second decision was made and he suddenly became extremely aware of his pulse, swift movement digging into his palm and cutting through the flesh until it drew blood. The red droplets pooled on his hand and beckoned him. He considered the situation for a second, closing his eyes as his mouth sealed itself over the cut, sucking quietly. The taste of iron filled his mouth, making his taste buds beg for more. Soon the blood wouldn’t have to be his. 

Will moved to stand before the mirror, eyes tracing over his features slowly, methodically. Practically every inch of his body was visible, hands stroking over the smile on his stomach like they had been for the last few weeks. 

He sat down on his bed, leaning against the headboard quietly. Something was beginning to throb inside of him and he wasn’t sure what to name it. It wasn’t love, he had felt that before. It involved desperation. A desire. A need. A hunger that he could never even begin to satiate. It was black, deep, sharp, engrossing and life-ruining. And yet, he was going to find a way to eat. Even if it meant he had to use some unorthodox methods. Will knew that if there was another threat in town, Jack would come knocking on his door faster than anything. He just needed to create a threat. 

He drew his attention to the scattered sheets in his desk, notes and papers that he shoved into the darkest depths of his drawers whenever anyone came to visit, and planned to burn as soon as he’d made good use of them.

He was always a fan of metaphors and subtext slithering between the lines of conversations and books. Sometimes, they were easier to read than the actual words the person was trying to say. Though building metaphors was a lot harder than deciphering them, he had found. It took one thing to decipher someone else's motivations, but fabricating his own was no small task. Will was still full of anger, full of hurt, overwhelmed by emotions that hadn’t visited him with the same force in years, and now he was using them to craft something terrifying. Something insurmountable.

Will traced his fingers over a picture of the smiley family. They seemed peaceful. Content. The same contentedness that Will could only pray for and know he wouldn’t receive again. At least not for a long while. His heart began to pound as he gazed into their happy faces, imagining what they would be doing right then. Giggling, making breakfast, prancing around the garden. 

Not for long, they wouldn’t be. Not if he wanted to see Hannibal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG MY LOVELIES! I'll be back to my regular posting schedule from now on <3 I had two really big exams but I hope this chapter makes up for it!
> 
> I love each and every one of you.
> 
> \- Newt xxx


	10. Progressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margot needed to find out what was going on. Will finally understood what he needed to do. Molly was met with a conflict and a resolution.

Hannibal watched the plain glass of the cell, zoned out completely. His stillness was unnerving, mouth unmoving, and gaze fixated on one spot. He was visiting Will's cabin, feeding his dogs, the names of whom he finally managed to eke out of his memory. The longer he spent thinking about Will, the more details he managed to forcefully pull out of his brain.

Hannibal was used to violent dreams. To anger. To torturous nightmares. But now all he dreamt of was gleaming sunlight and open rooms, and quiet mornings and conversations over lunch. He dreamt of smiling faces and hands grazing over bodies. Of a family, of a home, of a peaceful existence. 

Today was one of those days. He retreated into a corner of his mind, watching as Abigail sat beside him, hands on the harpsichord. He was teaching her music theory, watching as her nimble fingers traced over the keys and played the melody they had practiced last week. It was impeccable. Sure, it was out of time and lacked precision, and sometimes she'd hit the wrong keys, but Lecter had never heard anything so beautiful in his life.

Will was sat in a chair, reading a book, and enjoying the music contentedly. The room filled with the sound of peaceful conversations and settled in a layer of comfort. He couldn't help but imagine Will smiling. Oh, what he'd do to see that again. Hannibal smiled back in real life, living that moment until he ran out of pieces to play in his head. Thankfully, he knew enough to last him days.

\---

  
Some days, Margot thought she had had enough. Alana was caring, kind, sweet, understanding but plagued by guilt, and if Margot was the only one ballsy enough to take direct action, then so be it. Seeing Will fall apart wasn’t pleasant on anyone, but people averted their eyes or switched the topic of conversation, especially now that he outwardly looked like he was doing better. But something was amiss, it had to be. Will was planning something and she found herself getting tied into yet another predicament. Except for this time, she’d answer all of the questions herself. 

She put her coat on, wrapping it tight around her waist as she pecked Alana’s cheek. “I’ll be home soon, alright? Just need to pick a few things up.”   
  
Margot didn’t like sneaking behind her back. Of course, there was an element of danger to it that many would be drawn to, but she knew that this was the only way. Bloom was always more reasonable, more responsible, more “just”, though she knew they were both as guilty as each other. That little air of innocence and striving for justice definitely wasn’t fooling her, and if anything, Margot would be the one who’d get justice once and for all. She needed to see Dr. Du Maurier and find out what the hell had been going on in their conversations with Will.

\---   
  
“Dr. Du Maurier,” she said happily when met with a blonde woman with a quizzical stare. Alana had spoken about her previously, albeit on a surface level. She didn’t know much besides the fact that she was Hannibal’s ex-therapist, and that something must’ve happened to her in Italy. She couldn’t believe that didn’t seem fishy to anyone else.

“Can I help you?” she leaned against the doorway, inspecting every inch of Margot’s appearance.

“I need to talk to you. About Will Graham.”   
  
Bedelia’s face shifted through the most diverse range of emotions imaginable. Shock, disgust, jealousy, curiosity, unhappiness. She adjusted her posture, crossing her arms over her chest. “I imagine you’re aware I have a patient confidentiality agreement.”

“I imagine you’re aware that Will Graham has been visiting Hannibal Lecter. What kind of therapist suggests that?”

The older woman huffed. “I believed it would be therapeutic for him to receive some closure. However, I refuse to comment any further on the subject.”

“Well, I refuse to leave until I receive some clarity.”   


Bedelia almost rolled her eyes, stepping inside the house to grab the wine glass she was nursing just a moment earlier. “Allow me to ask a question of my own, then. What is your relationship with Will Graham? And why does it leave you so curious about his whereabouts?”   
  
“He’s a friend,” she hummed, looking away for a second. “I think there’s something strange about him lately. I don’t know what it is, but it’s unnerving. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed it.”   
  
She smiled. “Your first mistake was expecting conventional responses from Will. He’s anything but that.” Bedelia inspected her once again, finally persuaded. Something about this woman’s plight for information and the mix of fear and determination in her eyes made Bedelia think of herself. She gave in, opening the door up properly and allowing her to step inside. “Would you like a glass of wine?” 

“Yes, please,” Margot watched as she poured a beautiful glass of red. The interior of her home was exquisite, though something about it felt slightly alien. She hadn’t imagined that Hannibal Lecter could have a team of unconventional psychiatrists surrounding him, but Bedelia’s demeanor was surprisingly cold for someone that usually worked with people. Margot wondered if she had fallen into some sort of trap, whether she sowed doubt too early and was about to start reaping. 

“Were you romantically involved with Will?” the question came out of nowhere as Bedelia gestured for Margot to sit down, crossing her legs elegantly.

“I wouldn’t say it was romance,” she couldn’t help but laugh a little at the thought. “We had an encounter. I needed a child and he seemed like a viable candidate.”

“Would you still say so now?”   
  
Margot smiled at her inquisitive nature. It was clear what she was doing, but if this was the way to get answers, she wouldn’t mind playing into it a little bit. “Would you? He’s a good dad to Wally, but I can’t say I don’t wonder what goes through his head day-to-day. Though I imagine it wouldn’t be passed on to a child in any case.”   
  
“Will Graham has… an obsessive personality,” she finally decided. Normally, she wouldn’t let many things come between her and professionalism, but something fluttered in her chest. Fear. Every time she saw Will she could practically see Lecter’s reflection in his eyes, sinisterly plotting her demise. Of course, it was easier to continue their relationship to maintain appearances, but she couldn’t say she didn’t wonder whether it would all come crashing down. Whether Will would eventually reach his breaking point and she’d become the most viable victim. “Once he gets an idea into his mind, he won’t waver. It’s just a matter of him getting to the stage. He’s indecisive but passionate about his choices.”   
  
“What do you think that means for him, right now?”

“I think Will’s current obsession is self-discovery,” Bedelia sat up. “Infantile, perhaps, but there’s something that lurks underneath the surface. It can be one of many things.”

Margot furrowed her eyebrows, trying to pair the concept of self-discovery with his frequent visitations. What was he sifting through? Why would Bedelia be telling her this? Whose side was she on?    
  
“Are you afraid of what he may discover, Margot?” she peered almost through her.

“I’m more curious as to why you’re telling me this.”   
  
Bedelia’s lips turned into a little bit of a smile. Truth be told, she was curious what would happen. Excited to switch from observation of the story to active participation. Perhaps planting seeds of uncertainty in Margot would lead to an interesting development. 

“Don’t fear him, Margot. Hannibal isn’t going anywhere and neither is Will. He’ll always be caged in by his outward presentation to the world. The best you can do right now is aim to support him,” she backtracked. “I imagine what he’s discovering about himself and his past is deeply uncomfortable. He needs space.”   
  
It finally sunk in. Margot had always assumed there was something going on between him and Hannibal, of that sort, and Alana mentioned it in the passing moments when she deemed herself stable enough to discuss it all, but something about it seemed profound. She nodded at that information, crossing her legs to mirror Bedelia’s and trying to comprehend that. “I understand. Thank you very much for letting me in tonight,” she stood up a little too quickly, reaching for her coat.

“Margot?” the woman piped up and she turned to look at her. “You don’t need to help him to help yourself.”

She froze at the door, knuckles turning white as she held onto the handle. Unsurprisingly, her mind couldn’t conjure a coherent sentence to save her life, so she just nodded and walked out. Her legs felt weak as she headed back into the car, taking a moment to seat herself in the passenger seat and relax into the comfortable leather interior. How on Earth was she supposed to keep this information to herself? This was confirmation. What would Alana say if she found out she was meddling?

\---   
  


“Dad!” Wally exclaimed, watching a smiling Will step out of the car. He ran up to him, pulling the man into a huge hug and looking up in excitement. Will matched his energy, enthusiastically greeting the huge pack of dogs running towards him. They all let out sounds akin to yowls, practically begging for his attention. He knew they thought he would never return. For a while, he thought so too.    
  
“Do you remember what today is?”   
  
“How could I forget?” Will pulled out a brown package. A package that he had left hidden behind clothes and old shoeboxes. A package that he was tempted to throw out, but he realized could be repurposed. This would seal the deal.

“Thank you!” Wally grabbed it, unsurprised by the unexciting finish. His dad was never one for aesthetics, but he was sure he’d love it. “Can I open it now?”   
  
“Absolutely,” Will’s face spread into a forced grin, purposely blurring his vision so that, perhaps even for a moment, the brunette hair on his head looked like someone else’s. Like hers.

“A magnifying glass! And fly-tying gear. This is awesome. You’re gonna teach me how to do all of this stuff?”   
  
“Of course,” he got pulled into another hug, grasping onto the back of Wally’s shirt and lingering for a moment there. It didn’t matter whose face this child had, or what name he bore. In Will’s mind, he carried her memory. He could never be her, but at least Will could pretend, just for a moment. And once he got taller, maybe he’d look more like her. Maybe they’d both laugh about the same jokes. Maybe that way he’d never have to forget her.

“Will,” Molly approached and offered a polite smile, looking over the gift and running a soft hand through Wally’s hair. “That looks lovely, thank you,” she leaned in to peck him on the cheek, lingering for a second too long. Sometimes her body acted before consulting her mind, and this was one of those instances. Despite everything, she occasionally found herself conflicted.

The thoughts were immediately shaken off when she heard the sound of Margot and Alana from indoors. They were laughing over something minute, sipping hot tea as the kids played inside. She’d invited a few of Wally’s friends to the house, and they were all seated around a video game, eyes locked on the screen.

“What’s this?” Will gestured to the console as soon as he stepped inside. He didn’t want to sound like an old man, but it surprised him that his first thought was ‘that’s not how kids should play’. The echo of his dad’s voice sent a shiver up his spine.

“Video games. Freddie gifted him a console for his birthday, he’s been going crazy over it for the last few hours.”   
  
Will swallowed, nodding his head quickly and turning away to compose himself before spreading his face into another smile. “That’s a big gift, Molly.”

“She called us cavemen. To be fair, she wasn’t exactly wrong. I said it was a great gift idea but she insisted she make the purchase,” Molly said, and she couldn’t help but relish in Will’s reaction. He deserved to see what really caring for people looked like. If he cared to see at all.

“I’m glad that she found something that he would enjoy. He looks happy,” he watched Wally whisper to his friends and point at him, showing them the fishing lures and smiling excitedly.

Molly raised an eyebrow. She didn’t know why, but she definitely expected a different response from Will. He wasn’t exactly a great fan of Freddie to begin with, and now with the gift and everything? Did he really not care or had she failed to see in him an opportunity for redemption?

Will looked her up and down for a moment and sighed. “Can we talk somewhere in private?” 

It was time to put his skills to work.

Something tugged on Molly’s heart. It may have been care, or fear, or a mix of both. Either way, she didn’t have an audible response and followed him outside, away from the calamity of the celebration. She watched as Will took her hands into his and squeezed them gently, as he often would. It was his quiet way of saying ‘I love you’. Her heart stopped when she looked up and saw his bottom lip tremble.

“I miss you, Molly,” he croaked out, thumbs running up and down the back of his hand. “I know it will be impossible for you to forgive me. I could never ask that of you. I just… I just wish you could give me a second chance.” It was pathetic, the way he acted. The way Will spilled tears over anyone but Him. But drastic plans require drastic measures, and this was the most drastic of them all.

“Will…” her voice trailed off, and she took a step closer to him. Their eyes met and she tried to read his expression, truly, being met with sincerity. There was a familiar gentleness in his face, and she pulled away from his hands to hold his cheeks. “I love you, Will. I still do,” she began, trying to start on a good note. There were so many vicious, heartbroken words she wanted to say, but seeing him break like that made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t help how much she cared.

“And of course I miss you. I just… I don’t think I’ll be able to move past everything that you’ve done. To me. To Wally and I,” she sighed. “It’s not the same anymore. Things will always be different between us.”   
  
“It’s all because Freddie Lou-” Will began, tone strained and voice slightly raised.

“Freddie has been nothing but kind to me,” she cut him off. “I know, I know you have a problem with her. And I understand. She knows too much. You don’t like it when people have that much power over you,” her hand ran through his hair. “But it’s not the same anymore, sweet pea.”   


Will looked broken, allowing a loud sob to escape his lips. He pondered if he was trying too hard, but it was too late at that point. “What about couples therapy? We could do that. We can work it out, Molls. Don’t tell me we can’t fix this.”

She felt the warmth of his tears on her hands. Molly’s chest writhed with unimaginable guilt and pity. There was nothing she could do about it. Before she knew it, she was leaning in, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. She felt him freeze for a moment, relaxing into it promptly. They both pulled away and scanned each other, desperate eyes darting for clues. Molly was at a loss.

Will wasn’t. His esophagus burnt with bile at the thought of exchanging tenderness with anyone else. He knew it wouldn’t be long, but it was unbearable regardless. Softly, he took her hands once again and offered a soft smile. It was almost like their first month of being together. Well, at least the actions were. The intentions were so different Will would be deemed unrecognizable.

“I’ll consider it,” Molly said politely, though she knew that there was almost no chance she’d go there. She couldn’t find any other way to let him down easy. “Come on, Will, let’s go back inside.”

Freddie watched from the window, eyebrows raised. Is this what it had all come down to? Molly hadn’t learned anything?

\---

The party dissipated and everyone left. Wally had asked to stay for a sleepover at Raymond’s house, which meant that, for the first time in eons, Molly and Freddie had the house to themselves. Not that it meant much, considering the tension could be cut through with a knife.

Neither one of them said anything beyond surface-level discussion of the party, leaning against one another on the couch. Freddie finally pulled away and scanned her face.

“When were you planning on telling me about what happened with Will?”

Molly’s stomach sank. She sat back to fully look at Freddie, riddled with anxiety. “It wasn’t like that, Freddie. I know what it looked like but he was just so sad, and so-”   
  
“Save it,” the ginger woman sighed, turning away from her. “After everything that has happened to you, Molly? Why are you letting this continue?”   
  
“He looked so distraught....” she frowned, looking down. “I didn’t intend to kiss him. It didn’t feel like anything, either. I just wanted him to stop crying.”   
  
“He was  _ crying _ ?” Freddie did her best not to roll her eyes. “Oh, well, that changes everything. He’s a psychopath, Molly. You’ve gotta stop defending him.”   


She sighed, leaning against Freddie once again. “I know, I just… I can’t help it sometimes.” The sadness in her eyes made Freddie soften. She knew Molly truly couldn't help it. 

“I know this is awful timing considering you just kissed your ex-husband, but when do you intend to start talking about what all this might mean to you?” Freddie gestured broadly towards the both of them, fingers trailing up her arm softly, tracing small patterns.

“Now is a great time. I’ve never had anybody care about me as much as you do, Freddie. Thank you.” Molly looked up at her, lips curving up into a small smile. Freddie was everything she needed right then. “I don’t want to sound like a teenager, but can I kiss you?”

“I don’t want to respond like a teenager, but yes, please,” Freddie returned her smile, leaning in and letting their lips meet. Molly couldn’t help but wrap her arms around her, moving closer as their mouths met over and over again, all soft hands and quiet giggles. When Molly pulled away, Freddie was beaming.

_ Oh _ , Molly thought.  _ So that’s what it’s meant to feel like.  _

\---

Will stood before the mirror yet again, this time with more resolve. Hannibal had overrun his dreams, like a colony of maggots had settled in his mind. It pulled at the deepest nethers of things Will would’ve liked to repress; the blood, the gore, the roughness, the lust… He stopped before he thought about it for too long, instead settling on analyzing his facial expressions. Will raised the corner of his lip to mimic a cleft one, a sudden craze leaking into his eyes. He had always wanted to live his life as someone,  _ something  _ else.    
  
Last night, he dreamt of the unforgivingly cold Lithuanian prison, of being murdered by Chiyoh and having Hannibal turn him into a firefly. Tender hands grazed over Will’s sides and chest, though he watched it all from the third person. His soul had left his body and he was left as an observer, feasting his eyes on a methodical Lecter expertly tying knot after knot, noticing how the rope intentionally dug into his skin. The melancholy of his eyes was almost tangible, but every time Will attempted to reach for him, he simply passed through his body. Attempt after attempt after attempt, until...

he was absorbed. Will felt himself settle in Hannibal’s chest, his hands becoming Will’s own. Suddenly, he was tying himself up, making eye contact with his lifeless body, eyes tracing over the scars the way Hannibal’s would. Mouth watering the way Hannibal’s would. 

The nudity was nowhere near the most intimate part. Will knew Hannibal had seen him naked on multiple occasions. The true intimacy came in contact. Their combined movements were so slow as they doted over the corpse, watching it practically come alive as they strung it up and let it display itself. Will’s body was being held in place akin to a crucifixion, repenting. Will’s mind had found a new place to say, helping him repay his own sins. 

Will observed himself as he sunk down into a squat, perching as if about to spring into predatory action. His eyes trailed up as he met the magazine cut-out. An unstable man’s dream. A large, muscular being, wings spread and tail strong, over a woman adorned in gold. The power it emanated, the raw domination. Will knew someone with feelings of inadequacy would be drawn to it, the profile had already formed in his head. Systematic abuse at home, torture of animals, a potential orphan. Criminal charges for animal abuse, perhaps a potential service in the army.

His hands trailed over his body once again, fixated on the shifting of his muscles. Will attempted to imagine the man’s profile. His name. His relationships. He needed to become someone else, to ensure his actions didn’t read as a love letter to Hannibal Lecter. Unless…

Will’s heart skipped a beat. He could bend this character at his will. And maybe, just maybe, give him an affliction for incarcerated cannibals. Once this development made way into his mind, it was impossible to ignore. Any action Will was about to partake in was nothing but a profession. A symbol. A gift. A consummation.

He knew Hannibal would understand. He always did.

\---

  
Will never deemed himself much of a hunter. He was nowhere near as good at stalking as he was at luring, and yet he found himself situated outside the large house. The movement indoors didn’t unnerve him at the least, though there was something uneasy about watching a happy family. Something that felt so unfamiliar that he wanted to grasp it in his hands and squeeze the life out of it, lest it serve as a reminder that Will has never connected to the concept. At least not in traditional ways. 

Perhaps he just needed to show them the way he usually connected with others. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI ALL!
> 
> SORRY this took so long! I hope it's worth it <3 The chapters are just going to get spicier and spicier, I can't wait to see where this goes!
> 
> LOVE ALL OF YOU!
> 
> \- Newt xxx


	11. Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deed was done. Margot, Alana, Freddie and Molly shared suspicions. Jack knew what they were on the lookout for: a beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of murder and violence. Please review the tags before you proceed.

**  
** Will crouched beneath the bright moonlight. He could almost feel himself absorbing it, chest heaving. The gun in his hand cooled the burning excitement of his skin, though for a moment he struggled to grip it with the conviction he desired. The conviction he needed, if he was going to follow through. Will paused for a moment, watching the large house and beautiful garden. Something about it felt foreign despite the inviting interior. Perhaps that’s what Will was telling himself to justify what was inevitably going to happen next. 

With resolve, he gripped the weapon in both hands. He took a moment to completely immerse himself in the mind of a killer. A passionate, ruthless, monster. For a moment, Will didn’t feel that far off from it.

Hannibal Lecter’s presence hovered over him regardless of what he did, as if every time he stepped into that godforsaken building, he took a part of Lecter with him. That part was about to come to fruition with flying colors, he thought. The tail sprouting from his coccyx, the wings birthing from his back, Hannibal would think they were beautiful. Hannibal always thought Will was beautiful.

How he wished he was here to witness this.

He cleared his throat and made his way towards the house, strides suddenly much more confident as the door succumbed under his glass cutter. The noise surely wasn’t enough to wake the family, but Will was wary still. Nevertheless, he prowled into the middle-class home, inspecting his surroundings even though they were already familiar to him. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Leeds would be in their bed by now. His violent hands, glove-covered, met the railing as his body practically dragged him upstairs against his will. He felt a growl building up in his chest as if something within him was trying to assert dominance. Over himself. 

Will’s eyes softened momentarily when he saw the peace in the faces of the couple asleep beside each other, not knowing this would be the last time they’d be granted the tranquility of a night’s rest. He shook it off. He and Lecter weren’t gifted the same opportunity, so why should they be?    


_ Think about the Dragon. The Dragon. The Dragon. _

_ Swift feet moved to the bed, grabbing Mr. Leeds and slitting his neck in one, quick, motion. As if practiced. And it was. He practically calculated where he would stand, desperate hands grasping at the gashing wound and reaching out into the darkness. Will watched the light fade from his eyes. Just as he recalled seeing Mrs. Marlow’s while retracing her killer’s steps. What a simpler time.  _

_ He watched Mrs. Leeds stir, the shock in her eyes piercing through him. He pulled the trigger before he could even consider changing his mind, eyes closing at the deafening sound of her exhale. Mr. Leeds rose, spouting gouts of blood all over the floor and the walls. Will paused for a moment to consider the poetry of yet another person gone via neck wound. He was desperate, aching, way too alive for Will's taste. It almost felt too intimate to grant him that ending, but it was too late now to change his methods. It’s what The Dragon would’ve done. _

_ Will stumbled down the hallway, not himself as his eyes met two more bodies in the bed, young adults with their eyes shut but evidently no longer sleeping. His emotionless face was lit up with the gunshots, hands shaking ever so slightly at the sight of another pair of unmoving bodies. The Dragon was distracted by the sound of rustling in the other room, watching a barely-standing Mr. Leeds stagger towards him and collapse before he ever realised the fate of his own children. The Beast huffed out through his nose, confident steps stalking towards the nearest mirror. A gloved fist met the direct center, watching as it fell apart momentarily. Every other mirror in the house met the same fate. The Dragon couldn’t see himself. Will didn’t want to either.  _

_ He dragged the bodies back where they were when he originally killed them, delicately arranging the shards over their eyes. They need to see him. They need to see me, he thought. _

_ The Dragon had taken over for just that moment, Will had gotten completely into role. A success. Almost so successful that he didn’t notice that he’d taken a glove off of his hand, taking a step towards Mrs. Leeds’ lifeless body. She was his Woman Clothed in the Sun.  _

_ “I have to touch her…” he whispered to himself, the cool air beckoning his hands as he took a step closer. And another. And another. _

_ He had to touch her.  _

Will left the house in a sweat, knowing that they wouldn’t be found until morning wasn’t comforting in the least. Everything was immediately discarded into a bag as he drove back to his apartment to wash up. His vision was a blur but his head was in absolute clarity for the first time in years. A phrase never left his mind.

_ He would be proud of you. His nakama.  _

The thought filled Will’s chest with an unknown emotion.  
  
He walked into the shower, pleased at the feeling of cold water over skin. His muscles loosened as he leaned back against the cold of the tile wall, inhaling and exhaling to the best of his ability.

That night, after everything had been disposed of, he looked up at the ceiling and almost saw Orion. His eyes closed for a brief moment.

Hannibal was sitting beside him. They were in his office but it had no roof. Instead, every star in the sky was gleaming down at them, illuminating the space like a spotlight. “Orion was a hunter,” the older man began. “Though many versions discuss his death at the hands of a Scorpion sent by Gaia, I’m fond of his love affair with Artemis. A clueless man, loved and destroyed by the same person.”

Will couldn’t help but chuckle at the pretentiousness, awfully familiar and painfully endearing. “Apollo challenged Artemis to a pissing contest, and that’s why Orion had to die. Seems a little juvenile to me.”   
  


“What are relationships besides mutually decided pissing contests?"

He rolled his eyes, turning to see Lecter in all his glory, dressed in a dark navy suit with his legs crossed. Unlike usually, they sat beside each other time time. Almost too close for comfort, but who was Will to say? “You’re asking me, of all people, to define a relationship? You know I’m not the right man for the job.”

“You were the right man for this job. You’ve done well, Will. I’m impressed,” Hannibal scooted closer to him, eyes looking up at the stars once again.  
  
“Do you think Jack is looking for you?”

Will shook his head. “It was a perfect crime,” though his stomach burned with the thought of his loss of control. “Much more feral than yours, I’ll admit.”

“Well, you always were less calculated. I’d say I admire that about you.”

He smiled slightly. “You know I don’t need an admirer.”

“And yet, here I am. You don’t have to push me away any longer, Will. Just accept me as your own.”

That day, Will slept like a baby. 

_ Just accept me as your own.  _ He knew he had. 

\-----

Molly’s knuckles met Freddie’s door, a small bouquet of flowers in hand. There was somehow still anxiety in her chest, even though their communication skills had been a breath of fresh air. Some may say she’d leaped into the first opportunity not to be alone, and perhaps they were quietly correct, but in the moment she was just relishing in being cared about. Not to mention the fact that Freddie’s mathematical abilities were a very welcome addition to a household of a child who gets plenty of homework. Molly always considered herself better at English and the like. History too.

She beamed tentatively when the door opened, offering a small wave and leaning in the doorway. “Hey, you look great. You ready?” Molly stepped inside, feeling comfortable with the fact that she didn’t even have to ask. Freddie was smiling, hair tied up for the first time in eons. 

“Ditto. I never considered meeting Alana Bloom for dinner a realistic prospect. I imagine she isn’t my biggest fan.”

Molly chuckled ever-so-slightly, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I imagine she’s warming up to you. Though you should’ve seen the face she made when I first brought you up in conversation.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow and approached her, gladly taking the flowers and inhaling. “I don’t see why she had the needs to walk around on a bit of a pedestal. Being a therapist does all sorts of things to people.”

“So does being a journalist.”

Freddie hummed, looking up at her properly for the first time today. “Feeling defensive, are we?”

Molly sighed in response. “I just want to have a nice evening. I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m nervous,” she reached for Freddie’s hand, squeezing it. “I never really had too many female friends, really. Working in a boat motor shop really doesn’t lend itself to a shopping trip with the ladies.”

“Come on, you’ll be fine. Don’t get insecure on me now,” Lounds ran a hand through Molly’s hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. “You’re already friends. I know he’s not here to be your mediator, but don’t worry, I have just about as much sarcasm to counteract your compassion. I’m sure we’ll maintain a balance.”

She smiled, squeezing Freddie’s waist and looking to the stovetop to see what she had prepared. They planned to go out but, to everyone’s surprise, Lounds offered to cook. Molly could only imagine her a few hours ago, methodically chopping vegetables, humming under her breath, hair braided and put away. “It’s easy for you to say,” she starts. “About not being insecure. You’re known practically everywhere for not giving two shits.”

“You’d be surprised at what I was like growing up. Determination and opportunism aren’t things that develop in the womb.”

“What were you like?” she propped herself up on the counter, legs crossed.

“Shy. Curious, knowledgeable, very anxious, actually,” she contemplated that for a moment. “I really had to make a name for myself when I got older. I got tired of being shoved around as an assistant in my early 20’s. Go there, do this, sit down, don’t talk, just so I can maybe get a peek at some articles,” she took a step towards Molly, gentle hands on her hips. “Decided that I was tired of it all. So I quit, and lo and behold, they went up in flames pretty quickly. Turns out my extensive list of activities that left me overworked and underpaid was now permanently incomplete.”

Molly laughed, uncrossing her legs and letting Freddie come closer. “It’s very like you to be so vindictive. Though I can imagine they deserved it.”   
  


“A little malice never hurt nobody,” she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Molly’s mouth. “I reckon I’m going to have to teach you how to not forgive people. It can be very therapeutic.”   
  


“That’s an interesting view of therapy if I’ve ever heard one. Though, I’m sold. I could definitely use a little spite.”

They paused there for a moment, admiring each other’s faces contentedly. Freddie squeezed Molly’s hips and pulled away when she heard the doorbell, approaching it confidently. She let Margot and Alana in, offering them a somewhat cold smile. They placed the wine on the table, admiring the interior of the room. 

There they stood, four women with completely different fates, all who only had one blaring connection: Will Graham. It almost felt comical not to discuss him, but by everyone’s avoidant gazes it seemed like they would be pretty happy to walk right past the elephant in the room in search of something more amicable. 

“Smells delicious,” Alana finally spoke up, figuring she’d have to be the one to make an effort, considering Margot’s general reclusiveness lately, Freddie’s eternal foot in her mouth, and Molly’s clear anxiety. 

“Pumpkin soup and vegetarian lasagna. Thank you very much for the wine,” they all shifted uncomfortably, moving to sit at the set table. Nowhere near as elaborate as Hannibal’s, but sufficiently practical while remaining aesthetically pleasing.

Margot crossed her legs as everyone ate in silence. Knowing what she did about Will and Hannibal… it was eating her up. She hadn’t even told Alana. She wasn’t going to tell anyone. But with everyone in that room right now, it was almost the perfect scenario to bring it up. Although it was his private business…

“I talked to Bedelia du Maurier the other day,” she piped up, unsure of whether she regretted the decision to speak. “I know we wanted to have a relaxing dinner, but is anyone else worried about Will?”

Molly looked up from her plate, eyebrows raised. “You spoke to his therapist? Are you serious?” she recoiled slightly at the violation, though she couldn’t help but probe. She’d never even met her, that’s how secretive Will usually chose to be. “... what did she say?”

All eyes were on Margot now, Alana’s especially. They were piercing through her, unmoving from her anxiety-ridden face. “Oh, Margot,” was all that she managed, putting a hand over hers and squeezing it quietly. She wished she would have offered something slightly more elaborate, but Alana truly had no words. Why was Margot getting herself involved again like that? After everything they had put in to try and move on? It almost felt personal.

“She said he’s going through a period of self-discovery,” she said, tone more matter-of-fact once she’s composed herself. “It all seems a little, no, very unnerving to me. Has he properly spoken to any of you in the last few days?”

Molly shifted uncomfortably, looking away. Thankfully Freddie spoke up. “He was at Wally’s birthday party the other day. I believe he and Molly had a conversation together.” 

She just nodded in agreement, playing with the soup, watching it pour off the spoon and into the bowl before scooping some up again. “He… he said he’s considering marriage counseling. For us.”

“Leaping into therapy?” Alana choked out, putting her fork down. “That’s…  _ really _ unlike him. I can’t imagine Will Graham willingly letting people into his head.”   
  


“Maybe he’s sorry,” Margot tried to offer, immediately aware of how silly it sounded once she said it. “Or, more accurately, he’s not sorry but probably didn’t want to upset you. It’s no surprise he’d miss you.”

Freddie huffed, crossing her legs. “Do we really have to talk about him tonight? I love gossip just as much as the next gal but I promised I’d stop writing about him for the time being,” she briefly glanced up at Molly. “Anyway, practically every man involved in this scenario has been insufferable to deal with. Crawford, Lecter, Chilton, Zeller, Price… well, I guess Price is okay. I can’t trust Graham to be any different.”

Alana hummed disapprovingly. “One can argue that Jack was a product of the situation.”

“The same can be argued about Will. Is that not what you think about him anymore?” Molly shot back, suddenly feeling defensive. 

“He keeps seeking him out, Molly. It’s worrying,” Alana sighed, looking up at Margot. “Did his therapist say anything else?”

Margot swallowed a lump in her throat, trying to clear it unsuccessfully. “She thinks Will and Hannibal are…” she sifted through potential words in her head, “... closer than I imagined they were.”

The room went quiet. This wasn’t necessarily news to any of them, but Margot knew that an outright confirmation like that yielded itself to silence. Molly shook her head ever-so-slightly. On her mind was the quiet and unassuming man she’d stumbled upon one day while behind the register, watching him pick out various boat motor parts. He was charming in a way that almost indicated he didn’t know it, scraggly beard and oversized clothing somehow framing his dashing looks. She remembered the first date they went on, the way he apologised for his cooking skills and the way they walked the dogs in the snow. Where was her quiet, sweet man from before? Who was this?

They all looked into their plates, appreciative of the food as a tool to avoid conversation. “I think we need to stay away from Will Graham. There’s something going on and I’m not about to find out,” Freddie Lounds finally spoke up, watching as 3 pairs of eyes met her in horror, and then agreement. 

This wasn’t the mild dinner party Molly had hoped for. 

\---

Jack buried his face in his hands, looking through the case file over and over again. The write-ups were unheard of. What kind of sick, deluded monster kills a family? What does the full moon mean? He looked up at the photographers who were still doting over the bodies, watching as they snapped photo after photo of the mutilated bodies. He almost missed the Chesapeake Ripper, at least he had grace. These people were killed by a beast.

“Zeller, Price, you got anything for me?” he took a step toward them, observing the bags of evidence. 

“We think we have a partial fingerprint, Jack,” Price smiled, as always much too cheerfully to be appropriate. “Whoever, whatever this was, he almost couldn’t stop himself. There was no other slip up. Sure, it was messy, but it was a perfect murder.”

Crawford lit up at the mention of evidence, trying to exhale the tension and stop clenching his jaw, though it often felt like it was permanently in that state. “Send it to the lab immediately. I want you to hold everything back, this is your top priority.”

They both nodded, heading off as fast as they could, a pep in their step. Jack took his time to look at the demised family, face falling. Just as everything had calmed down. He couldn’t help but think of Will, he’d have all the answers. Jack hadn’t visited him in nearly three years, knowing that he probably wanted nothing more than the peace of a quiet family home and a ragtag pack of dogs. Sometimes Crawford wished he could get into a hideaway of his own that wasn’t his job, though this was the path he had chosen.

\---

He stepped into the office hours later, meeting eyes with a frustrated Price who sighed. “Nothing readable on that print, though we have some ideas about his motivations. Doesn’t he remind you a bit of Randall Tier?”

“The bodies were nowhere near as torn apart.”

“No, not that, it’s just…” he walked toward the table, unwrapping a small dog. “A dog, found dead in the shed. But, it has been dead for at least 3 days, and it looks like it was a roadkill situation.”

Jack furrowed his eyebrows. “Whoever did this wanted to get rid of the dog but couldn’t bring himself to do it with his hands.”

Zeller couldn’t help but laugh. “Really? A killer with empathy? Not this again, Jack.”

“No, there’s something off about this, Brian. I can’t put my finger on it,” he took a step towards the poor little body, observing it. 

“The family thought it had gone missing. Their son posted about it on Snapchat exactly three days ago,” Jimmy piped up, crossing his arms. He couldn’t help but appreciate the way Jack worked, eyebrows knitted, and face scrunched as soon as he was deep in thought.

Jack exhaled, shaking his head. For the first time in a while, he truly didn’t have an answer. And he wasn’t sure anyone did. “What kind of thing are we dealing with here?”

“A beast,” Zeller spoke up a little too quickly, but that was enough to quieten the other two men. They looked away from each other in contemplation.

“Then find me a beast.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI ALL! Sorry it took so long <3
> 
> I really hope you like this update!
> 
> (I aged up the kids to teens because I couldn't bear writing about child murder. I hope that's okay!)
> 
> \- Newt xx

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I often write these things in one feral frenzy so please let me know if some of it doesn't make sense or is just a bit out of it.
> 
> I love y'all! Leave requests in the comments or in my Tumblr inbox : )
> 
> \- Newt
> 
> (Based on this tweet -> https://twitter.com/doIcewill/status/1309676656353832960)


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